History Rewritten
by FreezePride
Summary: Harry finds that there is only one way to undo the future that he could not save: go back to the beginning. He travels back in time to confront Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy who would one day grow to be the greatest and most terrible wizard alive. Will Harry be able to bring peace and solace to the future? Or will Tom remain the harbinger of war, no matter who tries to stop him?
1. The End in the Beginning

(( This is a compilation of a roleplay between myself ( ) and HeroComplexing ( ). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.

My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee ( ) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well.

Also a big ol' thanks to everyone who followed this AU storyline thus far. This upload has been promised for a LONG TIME and I really appreciate your patience. Thank you so much. ))

It had taken Harry several days to orientate himself. What year was it? Who was alive? Who was dead? Would anybody recognize him? The answers to those questions came to him slowly, his mind feeling as though it were full of cotton balls that buzzed inside his skull, hindering his comprehension of the world around him. It was only after this buzzing had receded that he recognized it for what it was: the time period adjusting to his presence. Accepting its intruder, as unwelcome as he might have been.

He had managed to eat and sleep by the third day. Took some food off some unsuspecting muggles and found himself a quiet alleyway, dozing in there until he had stabilized enough to be functional. He found out the year shortly after from a muggle newspaper. It was 1943, early summer. Tom Riddle had not yet made the transition into Voldemort and Harry Potter did not yet exist. He was relieved when he realized this; it would have been indefinitely more difficult to get a hold of Tom if he were already deep into his travels.

Being an encyclopedia of Tom Riddle facts by this time, Harry knew exactly where to go next. Albus Dumbledore's voice, as clear as day, rung through his head as he found somewhere safe and out of the way to apparate from; ' _He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son_ '. Hermione's voice piqued in with a ' _be careful, Harry. Remember what happened last time you were there? Please be careful._ ' She had been telling him to 'be careful' right up until her death. Ron had been a little more subdued in that regard, always trusting Harry to come out alright in the end. Harry's tenacity had always ensured he did. He had become very adept at running and dodging over the years.

Harry didn't particularly like apparition, even now, but he couldn't think of a better way to get to his destination. He couldn't go by broomstick because he hadn't access to a broomstick, and he couldn't go by floo powder because the Riddle house wouldn't be connected to the network. As much as he loathed to do it, he had to apparate. So that was exactly what he did, and he managed to do so without splinching, thank goodness. He was old enough that apparition shouldn't cause him this much grief, but, well… old habits die hard. Hermione had always been so much better at it than him.

It was a bit of a walk before he reached the heart of Little Hangleton. The building he was after, the Riddle residence, looked a great more regal without the overgrown vines and weather-worn extremities; it might've been breathtaking to someone who hadn't attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The bright green grass surrounding it squelched beneath his feet as he ascended the hill. There was still some daylight left, which meant there would be time to move the Riddle family to a different location, somewhere safer, while he dealt with Tom Riddle.

He performed a simple unlocking charm on the door and - to his surprise, nothing happened. Testing the handle, he found the door was already unlocked. Harry nigh flung himself into the house upon realizing this, performing a silencing charm on his feet as he ran, bolting his way through the house, aiming for the drawing room. All the while he was cursing the house for being so needlessly large. Did three people _really_ need a whole manor?

At the sight of Tom he didn't even think. He bellowed the word 'expelliarmus' so loud that he saw the Riddle's – still alive, wide-eyed and terrified – jerk in their seats, turning to look at him with an expression of mingled disgust and fear. He wasn't a pleasant sight, he was sure. All ragged and war-torn and filthy. It'd been ages since he'd had the opportunity to shave and bathe; The Riddle's probably thought some insane homeless man had wandered in and started screaming nonsense.

As an afterthought, he belted into the room and grabbed for the back of Tom's robes, just in case he had mastered apparition. Looked a little young for that, but, well… it paid to be cautious around Tom Riddle.

xx

The middle aged man stared up at his attacker, his mouth clenched shut, and eyes all but rolling into the back of his head in absolute horror. His hands were shaking violently as he gripped the arms of his cushioned chair, all but tearing at the fabric in his efforts to move, to run, to flee. The veins on his neck stood out in stark contrast to his beautifully smooth, porcelain skin as he held back a scream of terror.

The elderly gentleman looked more confused than his petrified son. He was staring back at him, level in control, perhaps sensing the boy's hesitation, or maybe even amazed at the revelation that they were being attacked with a small stick. Either way, his thick, white mustache quivered with anger and loathing somewhere within his confusion as he stared forward.

The sensibly dressed woman to the elderly man's side was entirely unreadable. She kept her neatly lipsticked mouth was in a firm, resolute line as she prevented herself from even the inclination of fear, staring the forces of what she could not see or entirely understand. Her lined face seemed rather grim as she looked at the attacker facing them, knowing him without having even met him once. She seemed to somehow be resigned to her fate, despite the anger in her eyes.

Everything, from their uncertainty, to their confusion, to their horror seemed to stem from the rather young, robed boy before, a boy who faked confidence as his mind refused to move forward as second by harrowing second ticked by on the huge grandfather clock.

Tom was holding his breath.

Everything within the towering manor seemed to want to crush him under the weight of the silence which had fallen. He was sweating. He was shaking. He was every bit as weak as every revolting individual he had ever hated and yet he couldn't seem to get past one single solitary fact, one repeating loop of a thought which refused to be denied.

 _He looked exactly like them._

Tom had never stared into the face of someone who shared his features. He knew those high, regal cheekbones, that deep black, silken hair, the straight edge of that nose. He was even familiar with the thin fingers which tightened in horror on his chair as he stared with wide, shining eyes up at him. There was no mistaking that recognition. It was the face that he woke up to every single morning, the face that he had forced the emotions from long ago now locking eyes with him from across the room, his angular jaw clenched in abject terror.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his thoughts were moving fast. He needed to move beyond this, and it must be done quickly and neatly. No one must know of his parentage. He would do away with his living relatives now and he would move past this. His insane Uncle would be the perfect fall back, the perfect scapegoat for his crime. If only he could-

His grip tightened on his wand to keep his hand from shaking, but he couldn't seem to stop staring into those eyes. His eyes. In a life full of people who didn't even seem to look vaguely like him, this man was sitting here, _wearing his eyes._ He'd been here all along. Always wearing his eyes and hiding away.

Tom snapped his own shut, concentrating hard, willing himself to snap out of it, grappling with those thoughts and needing to push past and find it, the hatred, the pain, the anger, and the chilling cold rooted in countless nights spent alone and awake on his orphanage bed, wondering, wanting, needing the man before him, and now to learn _this_ …yes, there it was. Now, he had it.

His sense of purpose. **He would make them pay.**

Soft, gentle green light tipped his wand as the words consumed his mind. He lifted his wand to cast the spell and suddenly went flying into the wall behind him.

Blindsided, Tom crumpled to the floor, weaponless and winded as a cry of despair erupted from his father, no longer silenced or confined to his seat. The grandfather dashed forward with speed unexpected of a man his age, lunging for a tall glass case and tearing open the wooden door frames to reveal several sizable and well-kept hunting muskets.

xx

Ah, guns. Of course there were guns. He should have expected wealthy family like the Riddles to have a few within reach at all times. Harry wordlessly shut the cabinet on the muggle, almost catching those long thin fingers of his in the process. It wouldn't open for him no matter how desperately he tugged at the fine silver handle. Harry then willed Tom's wand to himself, pocketing it with his grip still firm around a handful of its owner's robes. He'd involuntarily pulled the boy closer to himself rather than let him crumple to the floor.

After all this time, all the suffering and loss inflicted on himself and others, he was finally, _finally_ going to be able put things right. The thought rejuvenated him, made him feel less like a man who'd been on the run for years, trying and failing to save those he cared about, and more like the 'chosen one' Trelawney had claimed him to be.

He sent the Elder Riddle back into his chair with a simple propelling spell. Not the gentlest way to do it, but it was fast. Licking his lips, he uttered "obliviate" and followed it with a soft "stupefy". Didn't want to have the muggles go ricocheting into the walls. He just wanted them unconscious long enough to make an escape. The spell would wear off within ten to twenty minutes, after which the Riddles would awaken very confused indeed. He hadn't provided them with a false memory to replace the one he had removed. There wasn't time for that. He needed to get himself and Tom somewhere out of the way, somewhere quiet, like…

Little Whinging (Little Hangleton, Little Whinging, both occupied by muggles that had rejected their magic relatives; the parallel made Harry frown. There were far too many parallels between himself and Voldemort). Little Whinging was where he would go. He'd find an empty house – not Number 4 Privet Drive; too many bad memories associated with that place. There ought to be at least a few on the market that he could temporarily occupy. He clutched Tom tight to himself and with a loud pop, disappeared before the pale, unconscious faces of Tom's family.

They landed on asphalt. Surveying the street, he located the nearest house with a 'for sale' sign and approached, dragging the sign out of the ground with his wand as he headed for the attached garage. He opened it, slid inside, and threw the sign into a dark corner. Put up a few wards and he – they? – ought to be able to stay here for at least a couple of weeks.

The house was still reasonably well furnished. There were a few chairs and tables scattered throughout the house, some clearly having been moved from other rooms. The kitchen was a bit bare, but he could go out and get himself some cutlery and kitchen utensils if he found himself wanting. The lounge room had two seats, a coffee table, and a fire. For that, Harry was grateful. He hadn't known such comforts in quite some time. He dropped the unconscious Tom into the chair furthest from the fire and lashed him to it with magical bindings, and then proceeded to light the fire and hunch down in front of it, warming his chilled hands and face. He was still shaking minutely from the adrenaline that had rushed his veins the moment he had found that front door unlocked. He curled his hands into fists, squeezed tight, and then unfurled them, but they were still shaking. Harry hoped it would cease before Tom awoke. The last thing he needed was Tom to think he – a grown man – was afraid of a teenager, or afraid of what he was about to do to that teenager.

He had decided prior to attempting time travel that he wouldn't kill Tom, but as Dumbledore had said on numerous occasions, 'there are worse things than death'.

xx

There hadn't been time for cohesive thought. Tom could vaguely feel that he had been grabbed, rather unceremoniously by what must have been his attacker. The dueling skills that he had took so much pride in were left by the wayside as he found himself quite weaponless. That deadly sense of purpose which had fueled his anger not a few seconds before dissipated in a heartbeat, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vertigo, as though he had been physically struck into a wall.

He felt the grip around him tighten and somewhere in the back of his own mind, he felt the press of a side-along apparition being forced upon him and before he knew it, darkness engulfed him and the world went a fuzzy, unnamable shade of gray.

When he came to from the haze of semi-consciousness, he awoke slowly and kept his eyes carefully shut, taking stock of himself before he could even begin to account for much else. His body seemed to be intact and unharmed as far as he was aware, but his senses were telling him that he was not quite out of danger yet. Slowly, carefully testing out his muscles, he quickly learned from the dull ache in his side that he had been knocked back somehow, perhaps with the same spell that had disarmed him. Seemed unlikely, but he couldn't possibly argue otherwise.

He tried to move his arms, or even his fingers ever so slightly, but found them held fast in place. These were no normal bindings. He should have assumed as much. Thankfully, the seat he seemed to be bound to was reasonably comfortable. It made it all the easier for faking that he was still out cold. There was the smell of ash and smoke that suddenly occurred to Tom, and he nearly cried out in alarm, thinking that his captor had thought him an expendable piece of fodder, but he bit back his fear and panic, settling to only open his eyes the slightest crack.

There was a man by the fireplace which he was facing, Tom realized, just a touch relieved. It was incredibly difficult to tell his age from his angle, but he must have been on the younger side, and yet, there was something remarkably weathered about him, from the ragged clothing, to the overgrown hair, to the way his hands shook as he attempted to warm them by the fire. His captor had obviously seen better days, apparently, but Tom was not about to make the mistake of letting his guard down once again.

It had been quite a while since he had even thought to try it, but he could almost feel the pull of magic crackling at his fingertips. _Wandless magic, barely controllable, but so overwhelmingly useful._ The last time he had used it, he had desperately needed it within the orphanage in order to defend himself. Now, at the grimmest possible moment, it seemed to be returning to him, like a long forgotten lullaby from a mother he never knew.

 _Pain. Make him feel such pain. Make him release me and give me back my wand._

Tom concentrated with alarming focus for a young man who was bound, weaponless and still feeling just a touch queasy, but he refused to give up his sense of control. This ragged newcomer would bend to his will, no matter the cost. He needed to escape, needed to get back. But to what? Little Hangleton? Hogwarts? How could he remedy this mess that the idiot before him had created?

 _Unhand me, you swine! Unhand me so that I can create my own future and forget this filthy past._

 _Xx_

Accelerated by magic, the fire was quick to warm Harry. The adrenaline soon waned and the shivering subsided. He gave a great, heaving sigh as he dropped back on his hunches, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth that was slowly pervading the air. This was a short-lived pleasure as an unpleasant, throbbing sensation spread throughout his forehead, the source being – as it so often was – the puckered white flesh of his scar. Though a fragment of Voldemort's soul no longer resided there, having been destroyed by Voldemort himself, back at Hogwarts, it remained sensitive to the magic of the one who had created it. Evidently that extended to younger versions of Voldemort. He rose to his feet, wholly unaffected by the discomfort, and approached Tom. He had become accustomed to pain at a young age. Found it difficult to shrug off, at times, but it was the least likely thing to incapacitate him these days.

He brought the chair opposite Tom's closer with a wave of his wand, moving the coffee table out of the way in a similar manner so he could seat himself before the boy.

"You're awake, then. Just so you know, that isn't really doing anything." Giving him a mild headache, sure, but hindering him? Certainly not. He had been a skilled wizard at seventeen years old. At twenty two he had a full arsenal of spells to counter any attempts to harm him. Granted, they didn't always work, and he wasn't nearly as powerful as Voldemort or Dumbledore, but his tenacity usually got him through.

"Right, so…" he'd had years to prepare for this conversation, but Harry's well-rehearsed words were failing to surface now that he needed them, and there were instead large gaps of silence while he thought about what to say. "…First of all, I want to reassure you I'm not here to harm you, despite what these… these uncomfortable circumstances might lead you to believe."

Harry ran his hands up through his hair, scratching at the dirty locks before he let his hands fall back into his lap. He'd pulled away with dirt under his nails. He really needed a bath.

"I'm not going to be turning you over to the ministry either," he continued. "We're going to be spending some time together, Tom. A lot of time, actually."

Xx

Tom had to admit himself slightly impressed. By all arguments, the pain he was causing was something that he had been inherently given since his youth, and he had been training with ever since he could discover the grim little trick, but the rather ragged man seemed undeterred by it entirely. If anything, it just seemed to be a vague annoyance, like the buzzing of a fly in the room.

The firelight flickered, casting a soft glow on the man's face and revealing, to Tom's surprise, that he was a great deal younger than he had first assumed. It was rather hard to discern beyond the grime and the overgrown hair, but he seemed within his mid-twenties. The sheen of his glasses couldn't hide the bright green of his almond shaped eyes as he rather casually arranged a chair to sit down and face him.

Tom kept his breathing steady and prompted himself to think logically, but it was nigh impossible beyond the buzz of panic which was vibrating through his mind. The man was telling him that his efforts to deter him were futile and Tom might have found a suitable response if he didn't keep looking at his own reflection in those glasses and seeing the terrified face of his father staring back.

Christ, they had the same face. He had been alive all along. He looked exactly like that 'pretty muggle man', as his Uncle had so astutely pointed out. He swallowed hard, fighting down the fear of being defenseless, looking for a way out, but his thoughts kept turning back to his father and the shrill words he had screamed before Tom had seen fit to silence him.

" _You're her son!" He had all but choked on his own scream of terror. "That woman who drugged me! S-she-!" He cut himself off, almost as though too disgusted to continue. "And now you're here to finish the job! I knew it!" He shrieked, heaving a dry sob and tearing at his beautiful hair. "I knew it all along! It was magic, I tell you! Satanic black magic, God help me!"_

Tom continued to keep his breathing steady, even as his mind spiraled off dangerously. He swallowed back fear and searched for words.

"You haven't really thought this through, have you?" He forced himself to speak, relieved to find that his voice, though barely above a whisper, was still smooth and taunting. "If you were take me to the ministry, what could you possibly accuse me of? _Nothing happened._ If anything, you would be arrested for kidnapping." Despite the cold of his own skin, he could feel sweat dripping down his long, graceful neck as his fingers gripped at the arms of his chair.

"And you wouldn't dare hurt me or the consequences would be even worse." He challenged, sounding far more confident now than he felt. Any moment now, the man before him could lash out and flay the very flesh from his body, and he would be defenseless to retaliate, but as long as he kept calm, he may be able to get out of this situation alive. "Whoever you are, I don't intend on spending any time with you at all. If you return my wand to me, I may very well overlook this," He glared haughtily at him, as though fishing for the correct word. "Escapade."

"Now, free me. Immediately." He demanded, ignoring dizzy sensation which lingered in the back of his mind, and the memories of his father's terror which refused to be shoved away.

Xx

The urge to laugh tickled his throat. He was already being threatened. How very like Voldemort. He managed to rein in a laugh, but his lips curved into a small, pleasant smile, though he was sure Tom would interpret it as mocking.

"Forget I mentioned the ministry. I was trying to calm you down, but it looks like it's done the opposite." Was there anything he could say without Tom regarding it with suspicion? He suspected not.

He seemed unperturbed by Tom's volatile behaviour. He was too used to such things by now to be bothered by it in the slightest. Voldemort had always been the sort of man who reacted strongly to anything less than admiration of his abilities, and Harry had gotten quite used to his threats and insults.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry continued. "It's a good thing nothing happened. I thought for sure I'd come too late. Though I'd come in and they'd all be dead and there'd be yet another horcrux to deal with." He was sure Tom would be compelled to comment at this point, so he raised a hand to forestall interruption. "Before I continue, you've probably guessed by now that I know a lot about you, and I know it's going to upset you that I know a lot about you. I'll explain how eventually, but right now – you don't even know my name, so I'll tell you that first, and then we can talk about, uh. Horcruxes and your family." His hand dropped. "You can call me Harry."

Xx

 _Bastard._

Tom scowled, realizing that it was technically himself who was the bastard, but this individual seemed all too willing to scoff at his orders, going so far as to nearly laugh at him in this regrettable state. Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously as he straightened himself up to full height. Even seated, he could be a rather intimidating figure, particularly while glaring daggers at his companion.

But of course, the other man seemed unperturbed. His dirtied face smiled back at him, and as he explained himself, Tom could have laughed at the rather shoddy attempt that the other man had made at trying to calm him down. Did this _idiot_ suppose that knocking someone out and binding them to a chair could be somehow excused with pretty and soothing assurances? This was a fool's game and Tom knew it.

The man before him was all too capable of tearing him to pieces and he wouldn't be distracted into forgetting that fact. The power of his simple disarming spell had sent him flying into the wall and rendered entirely unconscious. His binding spell had neither lessened in their time speaking, nor even slightly wavered. He was clearly malnourished and a bit beaten, but even still, a rather seasoned wizard in his own right. Tom might have respected that if he wasn't currently trying to worm his way out of this damned situation.

At the mention of 'horcrux', Tom couldn't help himself from sucking in air, his eyes widening in shock. Yet another blindsided moment, he inwardly cursed, but how could this man have possibly known? His grip on the chair instinctively tightened and his jaw clenched tight, clearly enraged at being cut off yet again by the other man's words. Harry, _apparently_ , saw fit to keep him quiet for a time.

This man knew far too much, but Tom refused to give himself away. He mentally began to reach out as his eyes focused on Harry's face, his brilliant eyes that…rather striking scar. He searched the other's mind as he spoke.

"What do you know?" He hissed. "And how do know this?"

Xx

He'd been looking into Tom's eyes, straight into them when he felt the slight probing sensation that accompanied legilimency. In his haste to calm Tom, he had forgotten that particular ability. He could recognized when his mind was being invaded, but he was no better at occlumency despite the time that had passed; his thoughts and feelings were still very much on his sleeve. Snape's harsh words flittered briefly through his mind – ' _Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers!_ ' and he knew at once that Tom would have been privy to them.

He averted his eyes, the only manner of which he knew to avoid having the deeper depths of his thoughts uncovered. There was only so much he wanted Tom to know at this time.

"Well, to be completely honest, it'd be easier to tell you what I _don't_ know. I know just about everything about you – including your future, which is why I'm here." Over Tom's shoulder, he could see the kitchen. A wave of his wand filled two glasses and sent them whizzing into the lounge room. He set Tom's glass on the coffee table. "Unless being rendered powerless and insane for a decade is something you fancy, it's not a future you'll want to pursue." He resumed looking at Tom, just briefly, so Tom could see snapshots of himself in weak, pitiful stages of his life; drinking unicorn blood to survive, being held like an infant by an ugly, balding servant, and then he looked away, taking a sip of his water. It probably wasn't the most dignified display, but the moment the water touched his lips he proceeded to empty the entire glass. It'd been a while since he'd had something to drink. He then wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve, sending the glass back into the kitchen.

"Not that I'm giving you a choice. I'm not going to let you continue making Swiss cheese of your soul." Tom was a bit of a brat, sure, but no one deserve to be what Voldemort eventually made of himself. Being powerful wasn't compensation enough for the stability and humanity Voldemort had deprived himself of.

Xx

He knew. Apparently, Tom was not the only one familiar with what the powers of legilimency entailed. Harry had broken eye contact almost immediately after realizing what Tom had been up to, no doubt to protect his thoughts much more carefully. He wasn't doing a startlingly good job of it, Tom realized. As skilled or powerful as Harry might have been, this seemed to be an area of weakness for him. His tired thoughts swirled around his mind and Tom picked up on a few stray memories that Harry had perhaps tried to keep to himself.

" _It'd be easier to tell you what I don't know…"_ The words echoed in Tom's mind as he peered into Harry's spotting flashes of an enraged man, gleaming red eyes flashing as power radiated from the dark cloaked figure. The recollections were moving so quickly that Tom didn't have a chance to see what happened next, what the figure would do with all that power. Harry had forced other memories to the forefront, one's that he apparently wanted to make very clear to his trapped companion.

A decrepit small, sickening looking baby creature, shivering and weak as a portly, sniveling man attended to it. A robed monster with silver blood dripping down the front of its robes as it stalked to its next victim. The memories were so vivid, so terrifying that Tom felt as though he had been transported for a fleeting moment, but he kept his face rigidly unreadable as he gripped the arms of his chair, the only movement he had been allowed within his bindings.

Upon his rather shaken return to reality, he listened quietly to Harry's ultimatum.

There was a distinct pause as he waited for Tom's response, and Tom waited to collect himself after the rather jarring experience he had just been forced through. His thoughts swirled with the revelations which did not seem to connect. The mutilated baby. The beast who was drinking silver blood. The red-eyed figure with all of the power. All while hearing the screams of his father echoing over and over again.

 _The son of that woman! Come back to finish me off!_

"You're not being clear. Tell the truth." Tom demanded, but in that breathless voice of uncertainty, he sounded much less like a controlling mastermind, and much more like a confused teen. "None of this makes any sense! Start from the beginning!" He snapped, trying to deny the feeling of nausea currently growing in his abdomen.

Xx

It was odd to hear Voldemort speak in voice so startlingly _human_. Harry's most prominent memories of Voldemort had him speak soft, but vicious words. Moments of calm were, in some ways, a great deal more terrifying than the occasions Voldemort had lost his temper. When he spoke softly, quietly, talking to you as though you were there for something as trivial as a tea party, it was because he was in control. Because you were exactly where he wanted you.

But Tom Riddle wasn't Voldemort. Not yet, in any case. Harry would have to keep on reminding himself of that if he ever wanted to reform the boy. If he went into this thinking of Tom as a psychopathic murderer – which, to be fair, wasn't _that_ far off the mark considering Tom's actions with the basilisk – he was going to find it exceedingly hard to treat him like a human being rather than a monster.

 _Tom's scared_ , he reminded himself. He was, after all, only seventeen, and he had just been captured by a man who claimed to know his future and who was showing him snippets of the awful creature he was to become.

"The beginning…" he said quietly, contemplatively. Perhaps he ought to backtrack to Tom's roots. "You already know your mother's a witch, and your father's a muggle. I don't know if you're aware of the circumstances under which they, uh, had you, but your mother, she-" It was hard to find a delicate way to explain to Tom that he was the result of rape. No one wanted to know they had been born under such abhorrent circumstances. "She did a terrible thing to your father, Tom. I'm not sure how exactly she did it, but the reason he was never in your life is because she – she forced herself on him, though magical means. She did that for a very long time, and I don't think he ever forgot what she did or recovered from it."

Talking about Tom's conception was just as hard and just as awkward as Harry had anticipated.

"I know that's… not an easy thing to hear, especially from someone you just met, but you're almost an adult, and you deserve the truth."

Xx

It was almost as though there was a shift in the air around them. It felt incredibly as though those electric sparks of animosity had somewhat died down to a subtle buzz of tension. Of course, it did nothing to ease the expectation of attack that was quite plainly in Harry's attentiveness, or his need to keep his wand close, and Tom's own hidden away. Harry seemed to be stumbling over himself once again. Careful with his words in a way he had lacked before, in a tone he had not taken when trying to scare him. Was this sympathy? Empathy? Or worse, was it pity? The muscles of his jaw tightened as he swallowed down that bitter pill. Damn him. Damn it all. If only he could get to his wand.

Tom took slow, soft breaths, trying to hide the fact that he desperately needed air. He was so ridiculously cold and yet the room was feeling staggeringly hot. Or perhaps it was just the magic snaking around his form that was jarring to him. Either way, he was anything but comfortable, and quite far from being comforted.

This story, it seemed to make a great deal of sense given his circumstances. He stared blankly at Harry, believing him, not wanting to believe him, hearing his words but sincerely wanting to block them away. He had asked for the full story, had he not? He had demanded it, from the beginning. All of the pieces to clearly fall into place. His insane Uncle's comments, the horrified shrieks of his father, the anger from his grandfather and the grim silence from his grandmother. If this were true, if his mother really had committed such an act…

"I don't understand." He spoke instinctively now, before he thought things through, his voice soft as though unaccustomed to the sensation of letting the words fall as they would. "If she had those abilities, she could have chosen to live."

There was a pause. His eyes closed tightly as he tried to deny that the room was spinning as much as his own conception. Of course there was a reason as to why she was dead. _She had chosen not to live_. Oh, how bitterly clear it was. She raped a filthy magic-less man and then couldn't live with the shame of the action or worse, the child that resulted. "Why should I trust you?" He hissed, forcing his eyes open again, trying to see lies where there was truth within Harry's mind, seeking fruitlessly as his fingers clawed at the arms of his chair.

Xx

Harry wouldn't delude himself by thinking Tom would trust him even if he gave him a legitimate reason to do so. He had, after all, kidnapped the boy. Trust was going to be an evasive, fickle thing if ever he did acquire it.

"You don't have to trust me. You can either take my word for it or come to your own conclusions." Because Harry wasn't about to push forth memories of himself and Dumbledore discussing Tom's birth. He didn't want to subject Tom to that; it would only serve to further confuse and upset him.

After a moment hesitation, he released one of Tom's arms and nudged his hand with the glass of water. All through magic, of course. He wasn't about to get too close to a seventeen year old wizard prodigy.

"Whatever you decide, the point I'm trying to make is- your father, he doesn't deserve to die. I think you could see for yourself that he was very intimidated by you, and not because you were brandishing what he probably thought was a stick."

He let their eyes meet, just briefly, to show that he was sincere. Tom would find no lies within his mind. He would, however, find Hogwart's sprawling hallways and lavish classrooms and the fire-lit Gryffindor common room as testament to Harry's warm, open personality. He had his secrets, of course, but his mind at rest had only stray hints of darkness - monochrome corners and locked doors and a flash of green followed by the faint scream of a woman. Those were harder to find among the radiant sea of gold and red.

Xx

Tom felt an inkling of relief. Harry was not about to try to convince him to believe that whatever he was spouting was the truth. He knew better than to try any manipulation tactics, or bringing up memories that could be falsified and molded to his own ends. Tom would have known, without a doubt, that if that were the case, Harry would have been lying. But the other man was confident enough in what had occurred here between them, and the logical soundness of his words, that Tom would come to the truth on his own. It was refreshing to be trusted with even that much. It showed that Harry had an iota of confidence in his ability to deduce.

"Why?" Tom asked finally. Hearing Harry speak and looking into his eyes, he could almost sense a warm presence, an open mind, an organic, kind generosity even when he wasn't beyond his own confusion quite yet. "Why are you defending him? What is any of this to you?" His voice was the same even controlled tone.

He felt the binding on his arm ease, the water nudge at his hand but he refused to move quite yet. The water felt cool against his skin, but anything could be a threat and he forced his instincts into submission. In actuality, this didn't make too much sense. If this stranger had wanted to threaten him at any point, kill him, or take advantage of him in this defenseless state, he certainly could have. He had the skill too, that was certain. But that open, welcoming, warm atmosphere he wanted Tom to believe in was just a bit too good to be true.

There was no way someone would have chosen to save his wretched, shrieking father without some sort of payment. Tom blinked slowly, trying to get the room to stop spinning, but then it occurred to him, Harry knew he wasn't feeling well. He knew that Tom's current state was anything but stable. He was perhaps expecting Tom to be sick, and maybe he was quite right because Tom did feel as though he were heating up rather dangerously.

 _But why not use this to his advantage?_

Tom tried to grasp at the glass of water, faking deftly his own hand's trembling before knocking it over _accidentally._ With a frustrated groan, he slumped forward in his seat, quieting his thoughts to clarity, and blocking out what he could not entirely silence, to make it seem as though he had passed out, held suspended by Harry's magical bindings.

Xx

"Your father isn't _really_ the focus here. It's-"

And that was as far as he got before being interrupted by the glass of water being sprayed across the carpet. With a wave of his wand he picked it up and set it back on the coffee table, and when he lifted his head to ask Tom if he would like assistance with his next glass of water, he was startled to find him unconscious in his chair. He'd never thought of Tom Riddle as sensitive enough to pass out over – well – _anything_ , but there had been an awful lot of force behind his disarming spell; perhaps Tom had a concussion? He really should have checked beforehand.

His every movement was hesitant, but he eventually stood out of his chair and approached Tom, setting the back of his hand on Tom's forehead. Hot. _Very_ hot. Moving his hand down to Tom's neck to check his pulse, he noticed there was a concerning amount of sweat. Some of Tom's hair was plastered to his forehead.

"Tom?"

He used his other hand to reach into his pocket as he spoke, groping around the deepest depths for a bag of potions. Its enchanted material enabled him to fit an incredible number of items inside. He had everything from potion ingredients to spell books in there. Tom's wand was lying somewhere at the bottom.

"Tom? Hang on, I have a pepper-up potion in here somewhere." It was generally used for colds, but it'd still make Tom feel better.

Xx

It was working.

Harry had completely fallen for his farce. Without even so much as a question of the genuine nature of his sickness, Harry had simply jumped to his aid. There was something to be said of someone who was so very suspicious of him and all at once, someone who was so very giving of his time and efforts as to help a seemingly defenseless boy.

Perhaps he was just a touch too willing to try to help him out. Tom couldn't help but find himself questioning Harry's real intentions here. Even aside from the fancy footwork involved in evading the questions of how Harry had managed any of this elaborate feat, there was always the question of 'why reveal all of this new knowledge and suddenly expect some sort of reaction? Why interrupt such a pivotal moment? And why Tom?

Harry had leaned in close now, checking gently over Tom's vitals, placing his fingertips gently on his forehead and then gently pressing at the artery of his neck. Tom could feel the heat of his skin not two inches away from his own body and it took considerable effort to keep himself calm, carefully unassuming in his 'unconscious' state.

It was now or never.

In one tense motion, Tom's head snapped up once again, and using his freed arm, punched Harry as hard as he could manage in his bound state. He put all of his power and energy into straining against those bindings that currently kept him locked into that chair. He swiped at the wand so tantalizingly close in Harry's hand, hoping to snatch it away from his captor.

If only he could get that wand, he would be able to not only free himself, but force this random man to start speaking some sense, to explain the insanity he had just been through and the enigma that encompassed the fact that he seemed to know more about Tom and his own history that Tom knew himself. It was a jarring and terrifying experience all at once, but there was certainly a note of genuine truth to Harry that Tom couldn't entirely deny.

Xx

He should have expected to be assaulted, really. At least he'd had the forethought to tighten his grip on his wand.

Staggering backwards, Harry very nearly tripped over the coffee table, only managing to stop his descent by sitting himself down. As he did, he gave a grimace and slammed his free hand – the hand with a pepper-up potion clutched in it – onto the wooden surface, steadying himself. It had hurt the small of his back to sit so suddenly and on furniture that was much too low for that purpose.

There was a thick stream of blood coming from his nose. The only thing he had to stifle it with was his robe, which was already filthy and stained. He supposed another patch of dark brown wouldn't make much difference. Sniffing and holding a sleeve beneath his streaming nostrils, he frowned at Tom. He wasn't going to lose his temper, not over a bloody nose; not over scared, desperate seventeen year old, though he clearly wasn't happy.

"Well, now I know you're just fine," said Harry, his voice slightly muffled. "Maybe we ought to talk later. I should make you more comfortable first." And how he intended to do that involved the assistance of a witch or wizard. There ought to be someone in Diagon Alley he could coerce over here to perform the Unbreakable Vow. It wouldn't take him long to retrieve someone, but in the meantime, Tom looked like he would benefit from a nap.

The pepper-up potion was returned to the small satchel he'd taken it from. He then removed a vial of thick purple liquid that looked as though it were filled with glitter. Tom would easily be able to recognize it as a sleeping draught. A whispered "stupefy" rendered Tom momentarily immobile, and he uncorked the vial, draining the contents into Tom's mouth. The spell would wear off within a few minutes, by which time Tom would be drifting off to sleep. It ought to keep him out long enough to let Harry do what he needed to do. But just in case, he would transfigure some ropes (one of the few things he actually could transfigure due to necessity) and tie him to the chair.

Xx

Tom was absolutely seething. As weak as he felt, it didn't seem to negate from his emotions. His teeth were clenched in an unbecoming grimace as he tried desperately to swat to the wand before realizing that Harry had already retreated clumsily out of reach, nursing a broken nose. Tom glared venomously at him for having the audacity to foil his sudden attack, but refused to say a word on the subject. He kept his mouth tightly closed as he withdrew his arm to rest gently on the chair once again contemptuously, as though he had chosen to do so from the beginning, ignoring his bruised knuckles.

He expected violent retaliation. If he was to face it, he would do it with his chin up and mouth shut. He wouldn't give Harry the satisfaction of hearing him scream in pain and beg like an animal for mercy.

But Harry did nothing of the sort. In all honesty, he seemed to be taking the broken nose in stride, albeit a good bit of annoyance at having to mop up the blood from his face with his robes. The challenging rage in Tom's expression eased a touch as his curiosity was piqued in the back of his mind. Harry seemed strangely accepting for a man who had just been physically assaulted.

The confusion did nothing to calm Tom, but it certainly was a comfort to know he was not about to be skinned alive or slowly sliced apart. Not yet anyway.

He would have to find another way out of this damned chair, and it would have to be when Harry finally vacated his presence. But Harry seemed to be fiddling with his bag once again, and this time, not nearly foolish enough to take his attention from Tom. He withdrew a small vial with a shimmering liquid. Tom's face lit up with recognition, _sleeping draught_. Though he made to refuse, he felt the effects of a stunning curse sent his way, much more than he heard them whispered under Harry's breath.

Before he knew it, the drink was slipping down his throat, thick and warm, and he might have choked had his body not been so eager for an excuse for respite. He coughed weakly before slumping over in his seat once again, this time genuinely (and rather deeply) asleep.

 _He was sitting in his small room at Wool's orphanage, his feet barely touching the ground as he swung them back and forth, waiting for the conversation outside his door to end, for them to decide where he was to go. His father was shrieking, "Come to finish the job!" as the men from the institution rattled the handle to his door._

 _Tom slipped off of his bed. He wanted to hide in the cabinet with all of his treasures, but his feet were frozen. He could not move, let alone hide from them. His father was crying now. The door knob turned. Tom gripped his bedpost. If his mother had chosen death, perhaps she had meant it for him as well, but he couldn't let her. Not now, not ever._

Xx

The only thing Harry was able to find to transfigure into rope was a pile of dishcloths. The results were a little… colourful, dark shades of red and blue instead of a tawny brown, but they had the strength of rope so Harry wasn't going to try to do a better job. The magical bindings retreated as he secured Tom's wrists and ankles together with the rope, and then tied his torso to the body of the chair. Magic was used to further tighten each knot. He wanted to make sure Tom wouldn't be able to move more than a few inches if he awoke before Harry returned (though he was confident Tom wouldn't; he'd given him an unnecessarily large dose of sleeping draught).

Once he was sure Tom wouldn't be going anywhere, Harry stepped outside and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. No muggles seemed to notice him pop into being seemingly out of nowhere. He pushed through crowds of them to enter the Leaky Cauldron, hurrying for Diagon Alley. But it wasn't Diagon Alley that he surveyed for a potential bonder; he walked straight through to Knockturn Alley, passing men and women who regarded him with hungry eyes as he strode into the deepest, darkest recesses of the shopping area. Harry had few reservations about either cursing or paying one of the occupants of this place to assist him.

In the end he selected the first person to accost him as his bonder. They were a heavily cloaked man with yellowing teeth and wide, bloodshot eyes. Their long dirty fingers had grappled at his robe as he had attempted to pass, trying to pull him into a dangerous looking alleyway. Harry had subsequently cast the Imperius Curse on him and they had returned to the house at which Tom was being kept not ten minutes later.

As far as bonders go, he wasn't ideal, but he'd do the job alright. Now all he had to do was wake Tom up.

The cheapest and easiest potion to brew was the awakening potion, so Harry had plenty of that in his satchel. He'd used it on himself on more than one occasion in order to remain awake during guard duty. Uncorking a vial, he emptied the contents into Tom's mouth and untied one of his hands, grasping it tight with his own. He had his companion – the short, ugly little wizard he had under the Imperius curse – stand before their arms, holding out his wand. It was as short and ugly as the man wielding it.

Sitting on the very edge of coffee table, Harry waited.

Xx

His dream had taken a rather surreal turn. His room at the orphanage darkened and blurred just as the hands of those awaiting him outside reached out for him wildly, clawing the air, and feeling for his small, defenseless body. He had promised himself, never again! Never again would he allow himself to feel so powerless, so out of control. He would always be the one deciding his own fate, without fail.

But the ground was falling out from under his small feet now, the darkness swallowing him whole. All the while, he couldn't seem to get his father's scream from echoing around his skull. They had the same face, after all. The same exact face. How could he escape this?

Without warning, Tom felt a hand on his own, taking it firmly, but not angrily or violently as he had expected. The electric tingle of the awakening draught shocked his entire body and caused him to sputter slightly with its cool intensity as he speedily came to.

Blinking blearily for a moment, the room came into focus after a beat. Tom looked at Harry, then up to the dazed looking, squat fellow standing poised above him, then back to Harry once again and then the hand holding his own firmly in place. Either Harry was about to perform some ungodly ritual on him, or he was about to be violated. Or both, he reflected, his stomach churning in anger and dread.

"Harry," Tom said gently. "If you felt this way about me, you should have let me know. Customarily, you would _at least_ take me out to dinner first…" He finished with a touch of biting sarcasm that offset the coldness of his glare wonderfully.

Xx

Harry's mouth fell open to accommodate a retort (or because he was surprised, but he wasn't going to acknowledge that). He wasn't really used to _that_ sort of insinuation being made to mock him; neither Draco Malfoy nor Dudley would have ever suggested Harry was interested in them. It would have been more embarrassing for them than it would have been for him, but it didn't appear to bother Tom in the least.

"Shaking hands must be a real event for you if that's what you think this is," he eventually said, and he was pleased to note that his voice was cool and smooth.

His grip tightened. He then withdrew his wand, reaching across to Tom so he could set the tip against his jugular. Tom needed to feel intimidated for this to work.

"We're about to perform the Unbreakable Vow. The only thing you need to say is 'I will'. If you refuse, you'll meet the results of breaking the Unbreakable Vow a lot quicker than you would have had you agreed." Harry gaze was unwavering. The fire had gone out in his absence and the room was now beginning to cool. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, will you promise me that you will never make a Horcrux?"

Xx

Tom smirked, satisfaction quite clear on his face at having thrown Harry off, even for just a fraction of a second. To be in a position anything less than absolute power and control had been eating away at him ever since he had been confined to his seat, so just the implication of knocking Harry down a peg was something he was more than willing to give a shot for. "Shaking hands with the only who's forcing their will upon me is quite a different event than normal." Tom replied in mock politeness, his voice venomous with disdain.

This, of course, didn't seem to please Harry. The other man's grip tightened and Tom found himself all too aware of sensation of the tip of his wand pressed firmly against Tom's neck. Instinctively, Tom kept his outward composure. He locked eyes with Harry's own brilliant green ones, answering his fiery, unwavering gaze with one of supreme annoyance, as though Harry were interrupting his usual midday stroll to murder his surviving family members. He could have kept that act going indefinitely.

But then, Harry mentioned Horcruxes.

Tom's eyes shot open as he instinctively tried to jerk his hand away. For the hundredth time that night (or morning?), he found himself wondering how Harry knew what he had been thinking, how he was so dead on when it came to Tom's intentions. He hadn't told a soul about his plans, and he certainly had not discussed immortality with anyone who wasn't absolutely necessary for his gathering of information and possible methods. Harry seemed to know his hand before he even had a chance to completely form it.

It was horrifying. The tip of that wand seemed to press even harder now that Harry revealed exactly what he intended for Tom to vow to. He might have played off the comment in innocent confusion had he not been shocked into a reaction, but what good would that have ended up doing aside from buying him time? His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What are you playing at, Harry? You really intend on forcing me to succumb to your will?"

Xx

Harry kept his expression hard, his eyes trained on Tom. Everything about him conveyed intent to harm. He knew Tom was terrified of death. He was sure, given the ultimatum of compliance or death, he would sooner choose compliance than face the unknown. This was the man who had split his soul into seven (or eight, if Harry counted himself) to avoid the inevitability of death, after all.

"The alternative is killing you. And I will if you don't make the vow." He gave Tom's hand another squeeze. "You'd be better off dead than living out the life you eventually make for yourself.

The man on their left stepped forward at Harry's direction, placing the tip of his wand against their hands.

"Let's give this one more try." He drew in a long breath to expand his lungs as far as they would go, mentally preparing himself. He had used every unforgivable curse except the one that had affected his life so profoundly, and if he was wrong about Tom, and Tom would rather die than succumb to Harry's wishes (which was very unlikely, he reassured himself), then he would need to utter it with the conviction necessary to take a life. If he faltered halfway through he wasn't sure he'd be able to finish it.

Despite everything he had been through and everything he had done, taking a life – no matter the intentions – would never come easy to him.

After a heavy exhale, Harry repeated himself. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, will you promise me that you will never make a Horcrux?"

Xx

Tom's mind was buzzing with activity, but his expression was frozen in an unreadable state of shock. Harry looked serious, _dead_ serious. His intentions were all too clear by the grim concentration displayed on his face. Even aside from that, there was a terrible and heavy weight behind his thoughts that only led to one conclusion.

Tom felt Harry's grip tighten on the wand which was held to his throat. In his life, he had been pitted against the threat of bombs overhead, of abuse behind the thin walls of his orphanage room, of countless people who considered him a demon child for his unlikely abilities. His grandfather's stony glare surfaced in his mind. But at this moment, he had never felt closer to the threat of death.

The thoughts were a half formed buzz and he shut his eyes tightly, willing them to form some sort of order, any sort of semblance of an answer to this terrible fate. ' _Reason with him', 'Charm him', 'Scare him', 'Lie to him', 'Seduce him'. Anything to get him to stop this madness._

The moment wore on. That deadly sense of purpose in Harry's eyes did not waver. If anything, it seemed to grow even stronger. Tom was all too aware of the furious pounding of his heart. It seemed to drum behind his ears as though trying to escape before the final breath.

It couldn't end this way. He couldn't let it. Not like his mother. "Harry, I-" _Seduce him, charm him, scare him, control him, convince him!_ But those green eyes did not waver and that wand tip felt all too hot against his jugular. Harry left no opening for escape. He meant to see Tom dead, one way or another.

"I will." Tom sighed softly, sounding small and unsure for the first time since he was a mere child.

Xx

A shimmering string of red rose from their bonder's wand and coiled itself around their hands, warm on their skin. It thrummed with an arcane power. Harry paused before he continued, taking a moment to consider his next words. He didn't want to make too many vows with too many stipulations or Tom might accidentally end up dead; he needed to be straightforward and concise.

"Will you promise me not to kill anyone, indirectly or otherwise? Unless, of course, someone is actively making an attempt on your own life."

A little redundant considering he'd already asked Tom not to make Horcrux's, but this would ensure Tom wouldn't be able to use others – his followers, creatures – to take a life. The basilisk would be useless to him.

Xx

Precious little was known of Unbreakable Vows, and what small amount had been gleaned, was usually for the use of matrimony. That was what Tom had read before, that was what he had studied and those were the facts that were currently not helping him in the slightest. All that was overwhelmingly clear was that no matter what he did, he could not break his word without dying as a consequence. This was only of the only aspects of the 'ceremony' that made itself all too clear.

He could never make a Horcrux. He would never be immortal.

Death seemed all too present as a chilled sensation ran down his back, branching off all the way to his fingertips. The room was cold, his thoughts went cold and Harry's brilliant green eyes were frigid. He fought to keep his breath even, to keep himself calm in the wake of this nightmare, but all he could comprehend in this state was the will to survive. The thirst for life was overtaking his sense, his hatred for his captor overtaking his fear.

He wanted to kill Harry. Not just kill, make him feel pain like he had never felt before in his life. He wanted to shatter him so badly he could almost taste the copper metallic of blood on his tongue. So, he knew about Tom's father? He knew about the basilisk? He seemed to know about _every damn little thing_.

"Do you think I'm a demon?" He whispered, the red glow of the first vow flickering in his eyes. "Just like the rest? My very birth brought death, Harry, but certainly you _already_ know that. Do you really think death doesn't ghost my every step?" He gave a soft, mad little laugh.

"Will you make my death messy like my mother's? Will they tell grand stories of how you destroyed me? Will you tell my father so he can finally be relieved that his _bastard_ is gone?"

Xx

Harry wished he wasn't such an expressive person. Though he tried to remain impassive, his eyes twitched away and his shoulders became a tense line; the way Tom laughed and spoke was too reminiscent of Voldemort for him to remain unaffected.

"You are in the future, but I wouldn't have come here if I didn't think I could prevent that. I don't want to have to kill you." His gaze flicked back to Tom's and his face was a series of weary lines as he re-considered the vow. Tom was right. He'd overlooked the possibility Tom would inadvertently cause death, and if that happened, Tom would die as well. It was an unlikely scenario, but he would adjust the vow to reflect Tom's concerns just to make sure Tom felt secure enough to continue.

"Tom, just… do this. I'm giving you a chance to live. If you let me I think I'll be able to help you. If not…" He shrugged, pressing his wand a little further into Tom's neck to remind him of his precarious situation. "Well, we'll just have to suffer each other's company until we grow old and tired of fighting."

He wasn't looking forward to that. He was sure Tom would do everything within his power to make Harry regret forcing this life upon him.

"Will you promise me not to kill anyone? Unless, of course, you do it inadvertently-" He snorted a little. It didn't seem very likely. "Or because someone is actively trying to kill you. Intent is important here."

Xx

Tom could have laughed in his face, but he bit back the bitter, angry sensation just like he had the rest of his emotions (though he was still grappling with the fear). Harry was giving him a chance to live, was he? By forcing death upon him eventually, by ensuring that he could never achieve immortality? Tom was doomed now, and Harry knew it. Perhaps he even enjoyed knowing it, though Tom was having one hell of a time being able to tell from the tenseness of his upper body and the way those brilliant eyes twitched behind the dirty panes of his spectacles.

Harry was clearly upset. He was doing a terrible job of hiding it. Tom's words had effected Harry on a deep level, but in a way which he had not expected. They certainly didn't seem to deter the tip of that wand that was pressing into his neck. Tom didn't react, though his pulse thundered behind his ears.

 _Breathe deeply. Act calmly. Think logically._

His mind was a buzz of furious thoughts. It just did not make any sense to him. Harry was trying to 'help'? It was all too confusing, too open ended, and all his mind could concentrate on where possible loopholes.

'… _because someone is actively trying to kill you.'_ Intent to kill certainly sounded a great deal like what Harry was doing right now as they spoke, dooming him to eventual death in some way. Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously. Perhaps that would give him the possibility of killing Harry and escaping this hellish nightmare finally. And, if that were the case, could he possibly keep a vow with a dead man? Perhaps this foolish agreement would be then broken once Harry got his just reward for his _heroism_.

"I will." Tom had to concentrate hard to keep his hand from shaking. He didn't entirely succeed.

Xx

Harry didn't have enough skill in legilimency to gain insight into Tom's mind, but the superficial things – the barely restrained anger, for example – were so intense as to almost be palpable. He was glad they weren't connected by his scar anymore. That kind of anger would have given him a splitting headache. The tension alone was making his temples throb, and his scar always prickled, just a little, when he was stressed, but it wasn't the same prickling he had experienced in his youth.

A second coil of brilliant fire encircled their hands. He felt a barely perceptible tremor run the length of Tom's arm and pretended not to notice.

With the most important vows over and done with, Harry was finally starting to relax. Even if they were to stop now it would nigh impossible for Tom to become Lord Voldemort with his current boundaries.

"I only have one more," he told Tom. This was, quite possibly, the one Tom would hate the most. "Will you stay with me until I either give you permission to relocate or dismiss you? And If I dismiss you, will you return when called within – let's say… an hour? If circumstances separate us, that won't be considered breaking your vow, and I'll put something in place to tell you when you're in danger of straying too far."

A mark, just like the marks Voldemort had inflicted on his followers. Maybe he'd make it a lightning bolt.

Xx

Tom's stomach turned to ice and he felt caught between the urge to laugh and scream all at the same time. Harry's last request was not only mad, it seemed almost entirely random. He would have thought from the sequence of events up until this moment, Harry would have simply made him vow to never eat or drink again or something, which would ensure his demise rather soon without the emotional consequences of casting the curse. It was all so confusing with this Harry fellow. The more he tried to add things together, the less they seem to align. One moment, he seemed to care, the next he was staring back into the eyes of a cold, hard warrior, ready to cut his throat without second glance.

Tom closed his eyes, breathing deeply to keep himself from gritting his teeth. This didn't stop his jaw from clenching angrily as his mind worked quickly; fruitlessly, but quickly.

"This is ridiculous." Tom hissed, fighting to keep his voice level, his anger in check, but it burned in his chest and tasted disgusting like bile on his tongue. The sheer injustice of it all made him want to strangle Harry all over again. "Am I to be with you every single second of every single day? For one, how would we even manage to bathe? And of our sleeping arrangement? Am I to attend to you like a servant? This must be some kind of joke." Tom tried to keep the underlying fear from his voice. Harry had the power and the weapon. If this did end up being some sort of twisted fetish, Tom wouldn't have the ability to stop him.

"You obviously hate me, Harry." Tom continued imploringly, clenching his hand now to keep it from shaking, no longer really keeping track if he succeeded or not. "And you wish I was dead, that much is clear. If you would just challenge me to a duel, you could have your chance at killing me fairly, no emotional strings or dishonorable 'vows' attached. You seem a fair fighter. Why not see reason and just challenge me like a true warrior instead of hiding behind idiotic rules?"

His mind already had an answer to his question though. _He wants to see you suffer. He wants to use you, every inch of you, before he destroys you. He wants to see you squirm and crawl like a filthy animal._

Xx

Harry made an effort not to roll his eyes. He didn't want to give Riddle more reason to be pissed off, even if he was being a melodramatic little snot. Granted, being melodramatic in this situation was understandable, and Harry couldn't deny his biases. Tom Riddle in this universe had yet to do anything to earn his ire, but Harry associated him with Voldemort and all the awful things Voldemort had done to him. It was hard not to let his experiences colour his behaviour.

Harry sighed. He would try for some patience. "I'm not going to treat you like a house elf if that's what you're thinking. I can set your boundaries. I can let you go places. Eventually I'll let you return to school to finish your last year." If he could help it, he didn't want to deprive Tom of his education. They still had the rest of summer to work on developing an amicable relationship and curbing his interest in the dark arts.

"I don't… okay, I hate you little. Not you, really; what you became. Anyone else would have just killed you by now, and I won't pretend that didn't cross my mind. You – you in the future, that is – took everything from me." His knuckles were white. He hadn't noticed he'd tightened his grip on his wand. Loosening it, he continued. "But I'm not here to return the favor. I really do want to help you. I'm not going to let – _him_ stop me from giving you a better life than one you spend in a diary, or as a monster."

The wand had resumed its prod into Tom's jugular. He needed Tom to know he wanted to do what was right, but was willing to do what was _necessary_ if Tom refused to cooperate. No matter what, he wasn't going to let himself deviate from his task. "Accept the vow, Tom. Believe it or not, I don't want the solution here to be your death."

Xx

Tom fell deathly silent, his eyes focusing on Harry as the other man spoke, stray pieces of his thoughts finally falling into place. One aspect of Harry's story seemed to fill in so many questions and create so many more along with it. _Harry was from the future._ Tom's mouth tightened into a thin line as he bit back the immediate questions that rushed in after the shock of the realization. He knew what happened to Tom after this moment, knew how he and his followers moved from being simply students with ideas of grandeur to actually making his dreams a reality. Harry's otherworldly knowledge of Tom's past and instincts all seemed to make sense now.

And yet, it opened up the possibility for so many more questions. Where did Tom go from here? Had his father been killed and the secret of his bloodline safely kept away from prying eyes and the powerful elitists that he hoped to use in his favor? And even aside from that, the comment about his diary and being locked away in it took him off guard. Tom had not even thought of creating something from his old diary, but for Harry, that object seemed to hold even more power and hatred than anything, except maybe that _monster_ he spoke of. So many new possibilities opened, innumerable paths that could have led to them as well, but one comment seemed to stick in Tom's mind more than others.

 _You took everything from me_. It all seemed to come full circle. His father squirming and screaming to get away from him, his Uncle scoffing and jeering at his obvious bloodline and now, Harry's look of vile distrust and contempt as he pressed that wand further and further into his neck as though he would have liked nothing more than to forego magic entirely and just stab him with it.

Tom could not hope for mercy here. Whatever he would do in the future had already colored what Harry would do to him now in the past, Tom's present. And yet, there were fleeting moments of clarity in which Harry actually seemed as though he may think he was helping in some way, shape or form.

How much help could Tom expect from a mad man though?

There was one final fear that refused to be silenced, the lingering fear defenseless boy with a survivalist mentality, raised in an orphanage in a time of war. It was the fear of a neglected, angry child that slipped through the cracks when Tom was too busy thinking of the future to realize that the past was still so staggeringly present. "You swear you won't disrespect me? You won't take away my sense of agency?" His voice was a tired whisper as he looked down at his clenched fist. His fingernails bit at the skin of his palm before he realized what he had said. His eyes snapped back up to Harry, almost as though accusing him of drawing the words right out of his mouth. As though it were entirely Harry's fault he had to resort to them.

Xx

Even if he tried to take away Tom's agency, he couldn't imagine succeeding. The boy was resourceful and stubborn. He wasn't going to take anything Harry did sitting down. Moreover, there was no vow in place to prevent him from being a relatively _normal_ schoolboy, and Harry wasn't going to deny him the comforts he had become accustomed to at Hogwarts. After all, Tom had already experienced severe deprivation throughout his childhood and look at how that had turned out.

"I can't control how you feel. You'll probably feel like I'm doing both those things even if I'm not trying to." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, wand jostling in his grip. He really did want to help Tom. He was sure with a little (or a lot) of guidance Tom could be a better man, because he knew despite all his bravado and anger that everything about Tom was shaped by neglect and isolation and an intense, _intense_ fear.

He wet his lips before he continued, his thoughts drifting briefly to the bathtub upstairs. He was sure Riddle would find his company more agreeable if he didn't smell and look homeless. A quick bath would do them both some good. But first…

"But I'm not going to _try_ to do either of those things," he stated firmly. "Like I've said, I don't know – five times now? I want to help you. Helping you doesn't involve making you miserable. If anything, it involves making _me_ miserable." Trying to be a mentor to Tom Riddle wasn't exactly what Harry would call fun and games. It was going to be hell to get even a modicum of respect out of him. "Now, I'm going to repeat the vow. Accept it this time, alright? Because it's a rather long one and I really don't fancy repeating it three times.

"Tom, will you stay with me until I either dismiss you or give you permission to relocate? And If I dismiss you, will you return when called within an hour? It won't be considered breaking your vow if unforeseen circumstances separate us, and I'll put something in place to tell you when you're in danger of straying too far."

Xx

Tom let out a slow, meaningful sigh of relief. If Harry had meant to take away his right to consent, some sort of trigger would have shown as such in his mind up until this point in their conversation. Everything seemed strikingly genuine with Harry. It was an aspect that, despite his inward panic, Tom found to be remarkably comforting. It was almost as though he had nothing to hide from Tom, but even his preliminary training in the reading of minds was enough to show that there were underlying currents to which Harry was keeping secrets. That could only be expected though; each and every individual had secrets to unlock. Whether or not they were willing to part with them, or even knew about them, was quite another story.

 _Don't forget that hateful look in his eyes. He wants you to suffer. He'll enjoy watching you squirm. He'd love to help lower you straight into your grave._

Tom's head began to ache now, the revelations of the past few hours hanging heavily upon him, as though weighing him down by his temples. He wished his thoughts would just move more slowly so he could get a grasp on where these half-formed plans were going, but everything seemed to be an array of lunacy. His knowledge of his mother's death blended with his uncle's laughter. Harry's hateful glare was superimposed on his father's horrified scream. He could almost forget the dull-eyed, controlled wizard standing above them and even the ropes that bound him up because the mention of his Diary and the Monster had consumed his thoughts completely.

What did that even mean? What had Tom ended up taking from Harry? How much of this future did Harry hope to change, and was it even possible? He was getting absolutely nowhere asking himself. Perhaps he was just wasting precious time that he could be spending trying to escape somehow. _Or kill Harry, perhaps._ Whichever came first.

"I will." Tom finally answered, feeling as grave as he sounded. He fixed Harry with an unreadable stare, entirely unsure of what was to come next, now that he seemed to have promised away his plans and his power. His rage was simmering beneath the surface, but it would do him no good to let off any boiling anger yet. Not when the future had so much promise of quality time.

Xx

The last strand of fire wrapped like a viper around their wrists, eliciting a sigh from Harry. Like Tom's, it was deep and meaningful, and the tension that had lifted his shoulders into a straight line gradually began to recede. With no anxiety broiling beneath the surface he seemed like an entirely different person, smiling as the magic of the vow pulsed through him. This was the first thing that had gone right for him in a _very_ long time. After this success he thought he deserved a nice long bath.

"Well, you did, uh. Good." He felt obligated to offer Tom some form of praise. That's what guardians were supposed to do. "You can wash your hand in the kitchen sink in a minute if you want. I know I would. I haven't bathed in ages." Clearing his throat, he turned to his companion – the ugly, hunched figure beside them – and obliviated the last hour from his mind. With the imperious curse still in place, the man walked straight up to the door, stepped out, and apperated away with a sound like a gunshot.

That left him and Tom alone once more.

"I'll let you gather your bearings before we continue our discussion," he said as he stood, his hand still tight around Tom's. Almost as an afterthought, he set the end of his wand against Tom's arm, just below the junction of his elbow. The spell he murmured seemed to be a combination of sectumsempra – a spell Tom wouldn't recognize due to it having been conceived by Snape – and an incantation easily associated with the Unbreakable Vow, and a series of spells that didn't sound as though they should have been interwoven at all. The result was a little blue lightning bolt on Tom's forearm that wouldn't pain him as the dark mark did Voldemort's followers, but would give the surrounding veins the sensation of being filled with tepid water if he wandered too far. It'd be enough to get his attention, enough to make him uncomfortable, but not enough to cause him any anguish.

Once done, Harry took several steps back before removing Tom's restraints with a flick of his wand. They turned back into a colourful series of dish cloths that tumbled their way into Tom's lap.

"Don't try to leave the house. I don't really want you to get yourself killed before we've even had the chance to have a proper talk. I'll be back downstairs in about thirty minutes." That should give Tom enough time to recuperate and test his boundaries, toeing at them until he was forced to concede to his imprisonment. There was no way for him to escape, but Harry would let him come to that conclusion on his own. "Have some water and something to eat." With that said, he turned to walk upstairs, keeping his wand at the ready in case Tom attempted another assault. There was still blood beneath his nose, dried and flaking.

Xx

Tom watched the third and final glowing string snake its way around their hands as he might have watched a train wreck, with grim acceptance and blind, powerless anger. He had promised himself, all those years ago, that he would never allow his own future to be taken out of his hands, that he would always have power and control, even at the cost of those around him. He had promised himself he would survive, and now, he had nearly thrown all of that away in the course of a few hours.

He stayed carefully silent as he watched Harry slowly withdraw his hand and then attend to the lingering problem of the ugly man overseeing their vows, clearly still in the throes of the imperious curse. After that was neatly accomplished, Harry turned to him once again and in a frozen moment, he looked up and tried not to dwell on the fact that Harry had his wand, his power, and all of the control, not to mention a great deal of skill to put that control to use.

Tom was hardly breathing. Harry didn't need to inflict death to make him suffer. He placed the tip of his wand right below Tom's elbow joint and Tom was forced, once again, to keep himself from shaking. Would he cut his arm off? Was that the way that this little game of Harry's began? Yet, the only visible change seemed to be a tingling, unpleasant sensation which erupted right at the spot that Harry pointing. The words which he was speaking were disjointed, fragmented, and rather unbecoming but the result was something which Tom could have never expected. It was a small, lightning bolt shaped mark, bluish in nature as though it were a discolored old scar.

The other man seemed to visibly relax before him, as though a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders in the span of just a few moments. Tom watched his composure ebb to something far more casual as he explained that he should not leave the house, and should most likely consider washing that hand of his. Tom glanced down at his arm and grimaced at the smears of dirt left by Harry's fingers, or the red marks which would surely turn to bruises rather speedily on his pale skin. Something in the back of his mind told him that a shower would be rather nice. The offer of food and water even better, seeing as the last time he could have remembered eating anything was yesterday, and his throat burned with dryness.

His overseer gave him one final, prolonged look before making his way upstairs. Tom waited. One minute passed, then three. A full five minutes after Harry had retreated, Tom reasoned that now was the time to take a chance at checking his surroundings while he was still alone. The house was reasonably well furnished. These non-magical folk were well off enough to be able to afford a radio, and had several chairs set around the living room to accommodate for those who wanted to listen together. The windows had been painted black, as demanded by the currently wartime efforts, to prevent light from escaping at night to attract a German aerial attack, but the paint seemed aged and weathered to the point of graying. How long had these muggles been gone, anyway?

Tom wandered into the conservatively sized kitchen. He marveled at the fact that this place had managed to have anything akin to produce as he took note of several tomatoes and peppers arranged neatly on the counter. A few meager portions of meat in the fridge spoke to the fact that the house belonged to a couple, no children. There was no way that a family could be fed with that small of an amount. He could have cried out for joy when he finally opened up the drawers and found exactly what he was looking for.

Knives.

He had no intention of attacking Harry _quite yet_ , but there was no reason as to why he shouldn't be looking to defend himself if the time came. There was also no guarantee that Harry wouldn't change his mind and decide that Tom's life was best forfeit. He took one rather small, yet sharp, unassuming paring knife and wrapped it in cloth before storing it quickly in his pocket. Looking around once again, he spotted the normal ration of tasteless white bread allotted to two people, sitting on the counter next to the vegetables.

He should be hungry. He should want to eat it. He needed to survive. All he could comprehend in that moment was how overwhelmingly angry he was. The rage burned at him, scorching his mind, his stomach, his throat, his thoughts. If only he had not been distracted by his damned, screaming father! If only he had his wits about him enough to prevent Harry's ambush! Damn it all! Damn it! "DAMN IT ALL!" He shrieked finally.

The bread was rendered into a burnt, smoldering, stinking crisp. Wand or no wand, Tom's magic would find any outlet it could. He groaned, feeling his head lurch, his headache returning as he stepped quickly to the sink to wash his hands and then drink. Without warning, the light bulb over his head exploded. Tom groaned a curse. He hadn't caused this much havoc unintentionally since he was seven.

Xx

There were a lot of things Hogwarts neglected to teach its students. Muggle history, for example. It was only as Harry settled into a large, but _extremely_ old bath tub that he thought about _when_ he was. 1943. He didn't know much about 1943 (his primary school education had only covered basic history), but he vaguely recalled World War 2 hadn't ended until '45. Come to think of it, that For Sale sign had looked _very_ old. Weather-worn and peeling around the edges. Perhaps this house had been put on the market prior to the London bombings and remained there despite the family's absence because they couldn't risk returning. Or perhaps they couldn't return at all because they were…

East London had been a hot spot for bombs, hadn't it? And they were in _Surrey_. Harry couldn't say he was terribly scared of getting caught in a raid, though; he was a wizard after all. If any danger reared its head he'd just apparate himself and Tom to safety. Maybe to a distant beach or Hogsmeade. It was only the muggles that need fear the terror of the bombs, which was a thought that immediately made Harry's stomach twist with something akin to guilt; he didn't like to think wizards had means of protecting themselves from the carnage and refused to share it with the muggles for the sake of remaining hidden. But Harry didn't need _another_ war burdening his conscience, so the thought - or realization, rather - was quickly discarded in favor examining his surroundings.

The house they were occupying must have been owned by a wealthy family because they had pipes that ran hot water, a ceramic bath and sink, an additional room for the toilet, a wide range of hygiene products, and a mirror with a beautifully painted frame; luxuries he imagined most other families would be hard pressed to afford. He supposed their wealth was what had enabled them to move out in the first place. Most other people didn't have the money to relocate. They had to remain and risk the bombs.

God, he couldn't stop thinking about the bombs now that he'd started. Cursing under his breath, Harry picked up a sponge and started to scrub every inch of his dirt-caked skin clean. The bombs still lingered at the back of his mind, but at least now he had a task to take the edge off the unease he was feeling.

The water was brown by the time he was finished. Before evacuating the water, he took up a straight razor and cut his neglected beard down to a fine stubble. He ended up cutting himself several times on his jaw, neck, and cheek, dotting the brown water with red, but it felt nice to have a clear face once he was done. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had access to a razor.

He decided to leave his clothes in a pile on the floor, tying a towel tight around his waist and stealing his way into the main bedroom while still dripping wet. There weren't many clothes in the drawers and they were all a little big on him, but he found black slacks and a dress shirt that would be good enough for a temporary ensemble. Better than what he'd been forced to wear at the Dursley's, in any case. Before putting his robe back on, he performed some basic cleaning spells in an effort to make it more presentable. His hair was, as always, an absolutely mess, and he didn't even bother trying to comb it before descending the steps and walking through to the kitchen.

"Sorry, that might've been a little longer than thirty mi-"Upon noticing the burnt bread and burst light bulb, Harry fell silent, examining the rest of the room for additional damage. It didn't look like Tom had broken anything else.

Returning his gaze to Tom, he frowned. "Try not to reduce too much of our food to ash. We need that for 'not starving' purposes."

Xx

What the hell…?

Tom had not been expecting this. Tom had heard footsteps on the staircase, and upon snapping his attention up he was greeted with a completely unexpected sight. The man, shorter than Tom by a little less than half a foot, was shaven and looked scrubbed and fresh. His large clothes hung loosely around his well-built form. His messy black hair seemed to give him a devil-may-care attitude as he greeted Tom with a displeased frown. Tom was certain that the burnt bread was doing nothing to calm his companion. But frankly, Tom had a bit of trouble comprehending the entirety of it.

"You're short!" Tom observed, looking confused. "And young. And winsome." It might have been a compliment coming from anyone else. If anything, Tom's pale features just seemed rather confused, as though Harry had pulled off a mask to reveal he was someone completely different entirely. It was hardly the same person, and the difference between night and day. The Harry that had walked up those stairs had been a grungy, angry homeless vagrant. The Harry that walked down was adorably casual, yet barely older than his school years, still rather angry though. Somehow the threatening nature of the homeless man seemed to make him seem even more imposing and tall. It was a small comfort to see him more humanized.

With a disgruntled huff, Tom stared down at the smoldering loaf of tasteless bread. Frankly, he might have done them a favor. Harry had no idea what bread rations tasted like, so he wouldn't be privy to the knowledge that charcoal or sawdust was a comparable alternative.

"I'm going to bathe. Do not follow me." He ordered rather forcefully, knowing full well the lack of power he had over Harry, but insisting all the same that he make his intentions clear. "Or is _that_ forbidden for me as well?" He continued, snide and caustic as he stepped quickly out of the kitchen without giving his counterpart a chance to answer, past Harry and for the stairs.

The bathroom was, indeed, rather luxurious and well stocked. Tom would have revelled in the fact that he had a choice of different soaps and fragrances, and perhaps he would have even felt entitled to it, but within this moment he hardly noticed. After he entered, locked the door, he looked longingly at the blacked out window, as though entertaining a stray thought to jump out of it before his body began to move mechanically through the motions.

He disrobed, washed, scrubbed, dried, and re-clothed himself with the clothing from across the hallway, just as Harry had apparently done. The length of the garments was just right, but the waist was quite a bit larger than he had expected, but he would certainly make it work. He could have charmed his clothing clean once again, but he lacked his wand. He felt so very naked without it, truth be told, that he would have done anything to have it back, even if he could not use it to completely free himself. After finding a plain wooden comb on the female occupant's dresser, he slicked back wet hair and took a moment to look in the mirror.

His father's face stared back at him, screaming.

Tom's stomach clenched dangerously and nausea gripped him. He dashed back to the bathroom, barely having time enough to slam the door shut behind him as he doubled over the toilet, retching as stomach acid and bile poured from his mouth in repulsive heaves. His already empty stomach insisted on turning itself inside out. All the while, his father lingering in his memory as he clutched the seat to keep himself steady, coughing, panting, yet trying to keep as silent as possible. He could not afford to let Harry hear him.

 _Harry couldn't know he was this weak. Harry wanted him to suffer and die. He couldn't afford to let him know…_

When the horrifying episode was finally over, Tom was left quivering and panting, his stomach numb and empty and his mind heavy and leaden. After spitting, and flushing, he carefully made his way to the sink to scrub his face once again and brush his teeth (the family was even wealthy enough to have toothpaste! Imagine that!) He gripped the porcelain edges of the sink, bracing himself to look up at the mirror.

His own tired eyes stared back at him, set into a somewhat exhausted, extremely pale, yet strikingly handsome face, framed with soft black hair. Tom straightened to his full height, taking several deep breaths, gradually gaining back his composure. He hoped against hope that Harry hadn't heard that shameful display, that he didn't know exactly how Tom's weakness was seeping through his control at inopportune moments. He finally made his way out of the bathroom and downstairs once again.

Xx

Harry was so taken aback he didn't know which part of Tom's outburst to address first. With bagged eyes, messy hair, and a thin layer of peach fuzz, Harry had to wonder if Tom actually knew the definition of winsome. And short – he wasn't _short_! Just because Tom was obnoxiously tall didn't mean Harry was short; he was almost the same height as his father, and his father had been one of the tallest among the marauders.

Besides, not many people could boast being taller than Tom Riddle, who had been blessed with a height that facilitated harassing those he considered lesser than him (i.e. everyone) by looming over them.

He folded his arms over his chest, opening his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a single word Tom had pushed past him and ascended the stairs. Harry didn't even have the time to _consider_ stopping him. As he watched the ends of Tom's robes disappear from sight, he was glad he'd never had the opportunity – and would never have the opportunity to pursue a career that required skills in supervision. He would've been bloody terrible at it.

Pushing his damp hair out of his eyes, Harry decided to start cooking dinner. A pot of beef stew ought to last them a day or two. Having subsisted on stew for the last several months, he'd become very adept at making them. He'd often made them for the Dursley's as well, usually during winter. Needless to say, his portion of the stew had always been pitiful, and that was if he'd earned the right to eat anything at all, but it was still a meal he associated with warmth and a full belly.

He was sure Tom would have been disgusted to see him cooking the muggle way, hunched over the counter with a knife and a chopping board and no wand in sight. He was so used to cooking without magic that he scarcely ever bothered to use it. If he did, he probably would have screwed it up somehow, anyway. Sent the beef slamming into the wall or something. He couldn't risk slamming the beef into the wall because it was the only beef they had and he was pretty sure Tom wouldn't consent to consuming sullied meat.

He was in the process of throwing the aforementioned meat into a boiling pot of stock and water when he heard a great _slam_ of – a door? A person? Startled, Harry almost smacked his elbow into the cooker, managing to stop himself just before impact. A cube of beef fell out of his hand and onto the kitchen floor. He ignored it, hurrying up the stairs to make sure Tom's magic hadn't gone haywire again and broken something.

He was greeted by the sound of retching.

 _Oh_.

Harry stood there for a moment, listening, but he knew better than to intervene. Offering help would only serve to embarrass the boy. Tom had a lot of pride, and Harry had inflicted enough damage to it for one evening. He returned to the kitchen and resumed cooking, giving no indication he had eavesdropped on Tom's breakdown. He did, however, pour Tom a glass of water and set it on the counter along with an apple.

"Dinner won't be ready for a while."

Xx

The aroma of gently simmering broth filled the air in the kitchen as Tom walked in, finding Harry at the stove, stirring what could only be a stew with the casual air of someone who was rather adapt at cooking. Judging by the look of the knife and cutting board and knife on the counter, he obviously had done most of the work (if not all of it) manually. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that he had left his own weapon in the bathroom upstairs with his dirty clothes. He inwardly cursed his sickness for distracting from what truly had mattered, his survival. There was no running back up there now that Harry had obviously noticed him, but he could not afford any more slip ups. If anything, Harry could be planning on spilling some sort of potion into their meal right as he stirred. Veritasium? Or maybe worse, Amortentia? He would have to make sure to note any drastic changes in the scent. The last thing he needed was to lose his body as well as his mind.

His stomach gave a rather unsettled turn at the alluring smell of meat slowly stewing away whatever vegetables Harry had managed to find within the kitchen. Harry was certainly easier to look at this way. He looked far less threatening than he had before his washing, but Tom couldn't let that distract him from the fact that this powerful individual had literally stolen away all of his goals and free will in the matter of a few precious hours, debasing him to the status of an angry child spewing out errant, wandless magic every now and then when his emotions took over in place of his mind. It was good to note that Harry did not seem confident enough in his magic to let it do the cooking for him. Then again, Tom did so little cooking magic that he doubted he could perform it suitably either. It simply was not within his normal repertoire. At the orphanage though, if one expected to eat, one had to contribute with the cooking. Mandatory survival, if you will. It made avoiding any sort of domestication all but impossible.

When Harry turned to greet him, he slid a glass of water and an apple in his direction. Apples, obviously good for an upset stomach. So, he knew. He knew about the episode upstairs. _He knew bloody everything, didn't he?_

Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously, yet he kept his careful composure as he sat down at the neatly small wooden table for two, looking remarkably well adjusted for someone whose life had literally just been derailed. He ignored both of the offered items in lieu of fixing Harry with a curiously innocent, pensive look.

"Harry, it seems that you know everything about me." He articulated carefully, keeping his tone smooth and calm, almost comfortingly so. "I can see you've definitely studied me a great deal." _And also want me to suffer and die._ "I'm far more interested in hearing about you though." He made a small, politely unassuming gesture to his companion.

"Who are you? Could you tell me about yourself? Seeing as we'll be spending some time together, I should like to know more than your first name."

Xx

"Er, alright…" Harry hesitated. 'Hi, I'm Harry Potter, and my life is an absolute mess' would be a succinct way of introducing himself. He didn't think Tom would find that amusing, though, and he wanted to have a better second impression than the catastrophe that had been his first.

He ran a hand up though his hair before he responded, somehow managing to make it even messier. "Well, my surname's Potter." That seemed like a good place to start. "This place is where I used to live. Sort of. I lived on this street – _would have_ lived on this street in about forty years. I'm from the future, you see." He dropped his hand from his hair and began to slowly stir the stew. The steam was rising up in great clouds of white. "I'm not much of a time traveler though; now that I'm here I can't go anywhere else. It was a one way journey."

A pause, and then he continued.

"If you want to know something specific, go ahead and ask. I don't have a lot to hide." Which implied that he did have _some_ things to hide, but they were nothing of great consequence. Just sentimental things; things that would offer Tom no advantage. At best it was information that could be used to provoke Harry, and considering he currently had two wands in his possessions, he didn't think Tom would want to do that.

Xx

The surname Potter sounded all too familiar. Not that he could have really chosen it out in particular, Tom felt as though he had heard many of the other 'Sacred Twenty Eight' members speaking of Potters from time to time. If his memory served him correctly, Henry Potter had crusaded for the rights of muggles in the Wizengamot about a decade or two ago, before he stepped down from his seat. Suitably, the Potters had been kicked out brethren of the pure blooded families because of his rather insolent ideas.

From a family of crusaders for the rights of muggles. Tom had a vague picture of where this was headed and why exactly Harry had targeted him. It wasn't exactly a stretch, considering Tom's current trajectory and his ideals. He could only assume that forty years from the present moment, his goals had not shifted too drastically. Then he had achieved them, to a certain extent? It was hard to tell from that small amount that Harry had revealed.

He seemed strikingly evasive on the subject of time travel. He couldn't quite blame him for that though. From the extent of Tom's knowledge, Time Traveling was highly dangerous and illegal in some countries. The irreparable damage it could inflict on the Time-Space Continuum was always a looming threat, but that could also explain why it was impossible to move back to his own original time period. "It seems uncomfortable to be trapped in a completely different era. Do you miss your own time? Have you had a difficult time adjusting?" Tom asked, genuine curiosity creeping into his voice, rather than the cold, calculated variety he had been using before.

He paused, taking Harry's offer into consideration before continuing with his line of questioning. "And also, it seems that you are quite trained at the use of magic. Did you attend Hogwarts, by any chance?"

Xx

Those weren't the questions Harry had been anticipating. Having harbored a fragment of Voldemort's soul for sixteen years, Harry liked to think he understood him almost as well as Dumbledore. But then, Tom wasn't really Voldemort yet, was he? Not truly. Voldemort exhibited little subtly when it came to acquiring what information he wanted, while Tom was still self-aware enough not to broach certain subjects right off the bat.

Once again, Harry reminded himself that Tom Riddle and Voldemort weren't the same person. Not in these circumstances, anyway.

"I did, yeah. Attend Hogwarts, I mean. I was in the Gryffindor house, which was either terrible or great for the Gryffindor's depending on what I was up to that month." He laughed quietly, mostly to himself. "I killed a guy during my first year – er, not deliberately. He tried to kill me and started falling to pieces. That pretty much set the theme for the rest of my time at Hogwarts."

He reached into the spices cabinet and added a generous amount of paprika to the stew.

"Being here is actually kind of an improvement. I already mentioned that you…" A beat. "Well, not you; I only said 'you' before because I was upset. You and Voldemort are entirely different people. _You_ haven't taken anything from me, but he did. It was probably his favorite hobby, killing muggle-borns and tormenting muggles aside." Harry glanced at Tom, taking a moment to gauge his reaction. "Once the war's over I'll probably have a good time being here. I might even get a job so these muggles can have their house back."

He would need to have some official documents forged before he did that, and he wouldn't be able to work anywhere of significance. He couldn't risk the Ministry noticing he was an anomaly.

Xx

 _Ugh. A Gryffindor. Just when his punishment couldn't get any better._

Tom's eyes widened a fraction when Harry mentioned 'unintentionally killing a man during his first year'. Tom had to admit that he had a rather unsteady past, filled with a good deal more violence than most, but he could have never admitted to murdering an individual at just above a decade old. He suppressed a shiver, realizing that wasn't entirely the truth. He had unintentionally murdered his mother. The casual tone which Harry had used didn't help the uneasy feeling that came with the thought of how much control Harry truly had over his future, and how very sure Tom was that Harry wanted him to suffer like an animal.

He watched as Harry added some unnamed red spice to the dish as he described how much of an improvement it was to be in this era. As he spoke of Tom's future self, using the name which Tom prided himself so much in choosing, there seemed to be an underlying anger and hatred which Harry could not hide. To be entirely honest, he did not even seem to _want_ to hide it. Harry glanced back at him from time to time, as though trying to catch some sort of grand reaction, as though Tom were about to transform suddenly into a fanged beast and pounce at him. Almost in retaliation, Tom kept his expression calm and his tone level and smooth as he spoke.

"Do you have any idea why I…or rather, my future self would be so adamant about targeting you?" He asked politely, fixing Harry with an unblinkingly focused stare.

"I'm glad to hear that you think that this is an improvement." Tom gestured to their makeshift 'home' for the time being. "Truth be told, this is a rather wealthy household. Many of the comforts offered by this place are not universal in England at the moment, though I'm sure you know all about this history as well. I won't bore you with the current war news." Tom wanted to know when he could expect an end to this idiotic, muggle conflict, but he knew better than to ask directly. There was just no way that Harry would impart that information willingly. "So, when will you be getting a job then, do you think?" Tom asked casually, running his fingertips over the rim of his glass of water before fixing Harry with the same, focused stare yet again, waiting for his answer.

Xx

Harry visibly hesitated. He wasn't sure if Tom was ready to hear about the prophecy. There was the potential he would take it to heart, _try_ something. He didn't want to put Tom in a situation where he felt as boxed in as his elder counterpart did. But the prophecy was null and void now, wasn't it? If there had been anything about time travel in there, it had been a very loose interpretation. What sort of lie could he tell Tom in lieu of the truth, anyway? Even at this age, Tom was a skilled legilimens. He would realize Harry was lying to him and their trust (or lack thereof) would be even more tenuous than it already was.

With a long-suffering sigh, he replied. "There was a prophecy about me and Voldemort. It doesn't really matter now since the whole 'dark lord' business isn't going to happen, but since you asked…" He scratched at his neck, clearly unhappy to be talking about something so personal with Tom, even if Tom had technically been one of the parties involved. "The prophecy basically said I was an unavoidable destiny, and he hated that. So he tried to kill me. Wasn't the last time he tried to kill me, either; he did that a lot. It backfired and he ended up making me a horcrux, which led to him living as a parasite for over a decade." His fingers darted to the scar on his forehead, brushing over the puckered flesh. "He kept trying to kill me for years. Probably would have tried a different tactic if he'd ever realized I had a part of his soul. Put me in a cage, maybe."

The memory of Voldemort in his head, speaking to him in that high, cold voice made Harry look away from Tom, continuing to needlessly stir the stew.

"Anyway, point is, creating horcrux's wasn't all it cracked up to be, because you ended up with such a fractured soul that it could hardly sustain itself. I'm still not entirely sure why you thought it was such a good idea, honestly. In the end you were so inhuman you couldn't even feel it when part of your soul was destroyed." He shook his head.

"As for work, not sure yet. I haven't even been here a week. I have plenty of money, in the meantime. I brought as much as I could carry before I left, so you won't be deprived of anything." He smiled to himself, amused by the idea of buying gifts for his arch-nemesis. "I don't intend to keep you here doing nothing all day. We'll go to Diagon Alley at some point and get you some books. Speaking of-"

He reached into his pocket, digging through the contents until he came upon what he was looking for. Withdrawing a book, he set it on the counter, sliding it over to Tom. The title was 'Quintessence: A Quest', written in bold gold lettering. It was an olive branch of sorts, much like the apple and water had been. Hopefully the allure of reading something from the future would be reason enough for Tom to take it regardless of how he felt about Harry.

Xx

Tom had obviously made a misstep. Asking about the nature of their past (his former future?) had turned the conversation tense. Harry seemed reticent to speak, let alone come up with an appropriate answer and Tom found himself regretting his decision to bring this up as early as he did. The amount of information he gleaned from his captor would depend on how comfortable Harry was with speaking to him. He had to make Harry believe that this was somewhat of a safe space to for him to speak. Forcing him to reflect on what the future held was, apparently, not working in his favor and yet Tom had to know why all of these jarringly random events were happening to him so suddenly. The future was an integral part to this explanation.

Keeping his face calm and his voice level and even was a trial. Harry was being _infuriatingly_ vague and extremely curt on the subject. There were huge holes in his ideology, and Tom had the fleetingly horrified notion that he had been kidnapped by a mad man. A skilled wizard, yes, but a complete mad man nonetheless. He swallowed his growing panic and tried to sort through the facts he had been presented. Forty years from now, there had been a prophecy which had made Harry a target of his. He then attacked Harry multiple times. One of those times had created a Horcrux by accident which had attached to Harry. Was that even possible? How did this effect Harry? Did he still feel the effects? His multiple Horcruxes had weakened his soul infinitely, yet he, er… _Voldemort_ himself was still powerful enough to attack and be formidable, and cause enough fear and caution that it would have driven Harry to find him here, in the past.

"That's very interesting." Tom commented softly, more to himself than his companion. He concentrated, and tried not to look too irate at the lack of clarity while he did so. There was a horrendous amount missing from this story, but questioning further would only set Harry on edge, and he had already taken to stirring that stew with enough vigor to tenderize the toughest meat.

His assurance that Tom would not really need for anything was somehow heartwarming in how genuine the offer had been, but the reflection that it was coming from a madman was a clear reminder that he needed to try to escape from Harry as soon as possible. Harry wanted him to suffer and die, he couldn't allow himself to forget that fact. He considered Tom his enemy already and had no reason to hold back for much longer. Harry had forced him into this position, and he would do his damnedest to see Tom's end. If his story was correct, than he had the most to gain from killing Tom. This kindness…perhaps it was to soothe his conscience later when he was cleaning off his weapon of choice.

The book that he slid forward could have only been described as academic. Textbook sized, with a suitable amount of heft, it looked rather mundane aside from its golden lettering and colored front, but the colors themselves were rather vivid and bright, the lettering precise and crisp, the cover only weathered about the edges from minimal use. He pulled the book closer carefully before glancing up to Harry once again, fully intending on asking about the nature of the volume before his breath hitched.

 _This was an obvious distraction_. Harry knew him all too well without even trying.

"How long have you been here? In this time, I mean? How did you find me? I told no one I would be in Little Hangleton. How do you know of my surviving family?" He continued smoothly, softly but still relentlessly, making remarkable efforts to ignore the book before him, no matter how much 'Quintessence' did interest him.

Xx

There was interest there, even if Tom's reaction wasn't the one he had sought. He would accept the book eventually, Harry was sure, but until Tom overcame his paranoia, everything Harry did would be thrown into suspicion. He couldn't really blame him seeing as he'd kidnapped the boy; he wouldn't have trusted himself either.

"Slow down, would you? I'll answer all your questions, but it'll be easier for me to keep a train of thought if you stick to one or two at a time."

Harry, at last, left the stew to cook. It would be some time before it was ready for consumption. While they waited, he maneuvered himself around the counter, seating himself at the kitchen table.

"Right, that first one… I've been here about four days so far. Not long. I spent the first few days orienting myself." He glanced at the glasses cabinet and it came open on its own accord, a glass descending to the sink. It was filled with water and floated across the room to Harry. He drained the entire glass in one go. Smacking his lips, he then provided the rest of his answer. "Those other questions are easily answered by 'I know everything about you'. I had to know everything about you in order to defeat you. Though, I guess 'everything' is a bit of an overstatement. I don't know every little facet of your personal life, I just know the important things, like your family, your upbringing, the approximate date you created each horcrux…"

He leaned his chin on a palm, looking deceptively calm and relaxed. This line of questioning was tricky to navigate. If he divulged too much he risked the possibility of Tom concluding that Dumbledore was responsible for Harry's knowledge. He would tell Tom, at some point, but not today. Not this early on. If he let Tom return to school, he didn't want him to return with a vendetta against the man.

"We knew a lot about each other. Granted, most people knew a lot about me because of the whole 'surviving a killing curse' thing, but their information was a little more superficial and embellished than yours. They didn't have some weird – mind link to draw information out of."

Xx

 _Four days._

That was all it had taken Harry to get himself oriented to the turbulent time, plan his attack, track Tom down, and time himself perfectly to completely disrupt all of Tom's plans. It was an incredible feat, but even more unbelievable due to the shortened period of time. Tom tried not to show the shock on his face, swallowing hard and tightening the grip on his glass a fraction.

Harry must have been extremely focused on finding him, hunting him down. To go so far as to travel through time to prevent the future spoke to the lengths he would go to ensure that this 'monster' Voldemort that he claimed Tom would become would never happen. If he had gone this far, there was no denying the fact that he would make not hesitate to kill him.

Tom looked up to find Harry sitting across from him at the little kitchen table, personally made just to seat two. It felt just a touch too intimate for Tom, but he refused to back down now. Harry was answering questions, no matter how evasively. It seemed that now was not quite the right moment for murder, if he could judge Harry's actions correctly. "What else do you know of my past? Other than…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Other than the circumstances of my birth?" Asking of his future would be futile, seeing as though it had been irreversibly changed at this point.

Tom couldn't help the shock on his face when Harry mentioned his surviving the killing curse. "H-How…?" He sputtered, completely caught off guard. "How could you possibly survive that? No one has ever survived that!" Tom's eyes traced the thin scar on his forehead, his jaw tightened visibly as the pieces quickly fell into place. The scar, it was a mark of dark magic gone awry. Harry hadn't been thorough with his details, of course. When he said that the prophecy had linked the two of them, he certainly hadn't mentioned his survival.

"Superficial information? Mind link? I don't understand." Tom snapped through clenched teeth. "Explain yourself! You're being infuriating!"

Xx

When Tom's dulcet tones gave way to petulance, Harry couldn't help but smile; Tom sounded more his age when he spoke that way. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, smothering his reaction so Tom wouldn't be able to misinterpret it as teasing.

"Right, I'll start from the beginning then. Give you some context." He cleared his throat. "Leave the questions and comments until the end, alright? I'll lose track of what I'm saying otherwise."

Harry's gaze was vacant as he mentally picked apart the details of Tom's life. He knew them well; it was deciding how to articulate them that was the hard part. He didn't want to be too long-winded, but he didn't want to skimp on too many details, either, and he also wanted Tom to know he regarded him and Voldemort as two different people. It was a lot more thought than he'd usually put into anything he said.

"…You don't need me to recount your entire upbringing, so… you made two Horcrux's while still in Hogwarts, and once you had graduated you started traveling and making more. Eventually you reached the peak of your power and started a war. You weren't really Tom by that point, though. That was basically your Tom Riddle to Voldemort transition period." Harry wrinkled his nose. "A prophecy about me and Voldemort was made during the war and overheard by one of his followers, who immediately relayed it to him. Neither of them knew what they he heard wasn't the _full_ prophecy. He only had a small part of it, but deduced that I was the one 'fated' to vanquish him. He ended up fulfilling the unheard part by marking me as his equal through a failed killing curse. It failed because of an ancient magic invoked by my mother, rebounding and leaving me with a fragment of his soul." A barely perceptible blush rose on his cheeks as he continued. "Er. Love. That- that was the magic. It protected me right up until my first year at Hogwarts, by which time Voldemort had managed to convince a professor there to let him inhabit the back of his head. Obviously his plans didn't work out since I'm still alive, and he resumed being…" Harry made a vague, incomprehensible gesture with his hands. "No one really knows what he was, but he was so weak that he had to live inside a guy's turban all day – which people threw snowballs at, by the way – so you can come to your own conclusions about that."

Harry paused to make sure Tom was keeping up.

"I actually met _you_ in my second year. You'd been preserved in a diary for fifty years, but you were still sixteen year old Tom Riddle. I can't imagine that was a pleasant existence, but I wasn't able to muster up much sympathy for you at the time since you tried to kill almost a dozen people while possessing my best friends sister, and then attempted to kill me. _After_ giving me a 'we're not so different' speech." He rolled his eyes. "Long story short, I destroyed that horcrux entirely by accident. Voldemort himself didn't reappear until my fourth year, and with the help of a servant who had sought him out in my third year, he'd made an eighth horcrux by that time. He thought it was his seventh since he never figured out he'd accidentally made me into one. He had that servant help him brew a regeneration potion, of which I was a key ingredient. It gave him a body that looked like the offspring of a skeleton and a snake. I was too busy being tortured at the time to tell him as much or he might have reconsidered the red eyes and white skin."

He'd intended that as a joke, but it came off a bit dry.

"After I'd escaped that predicament, because I seemed to be pretty adept at that at that point, the mind link I mentioned earlier started to strengthen. I'd seen snippets of what he was doing the previous year and now that he had a corporeal body, those were becoming more frequent. I bet you saw this part coming: he took advantage of our mind link and… well, those events aren't really that relevant, to be honest. Point is, the war had begun again and the only way to stop it was by destroying all his horcrux's. So that's what I and my friends did. We destroyed all but two, including the one inside my head.

"Voldemort was the one who destroyed the one inside me. He used the killing curse on me again, but it didn't kill me. It killed the fragment of his soul. And while I was straddling life and death I saw what would happen to him." There was a pregnant pause, and then Harry ran his hands up through his shaggy hair, pushing it behind his ears. The movement put the whole of his scar on view. The puckered, white flesh seemed to shine beneath the overhead light. "He was this horrible, raw, flayed thing that looked almost like a baby. It was in pain and I wanted to help it, but I couldn't, and I don't… I don't think you knew what you were or who you were. You were just conscious enough to be in pain. And if I killed you, that was your future. Neither able to live nor die. Just _that_ , forever." He wetted his lips. He hadn't intended to start using 'you' to refer to the thing. "I knew that, but I still would have killed Voldemort if it meant no one else would die or suffer on my behalf. I didn't succeed, obviously, which is for the best. If I hadn't resorted to time travel you would have been stuck there with no way out." Harry's hands dropping back to the table signified the end of his story.

"Anything you want me to clarify?"

Xx

Tom was sitting very still when Harry finally finished. He had hardly moved during the entire duration of Harry's shortened and sped up rendition of his story. He seemed to be almost carved in stone, rarely blinking, hardly breathing, his fingers slowly tightening on the apple before him as Harry's words created a world unto itself, spiced here and there with a bit of grim, dry humor on the speaker's part.

For having just recited the entirety of his life and their rather tumultuous past in the span of maybe ten minutes at the most, Harry looked like he was doing remarkably well. One might even have described him as 'spirited' as he dropped his hands on the table to signify an end. He was sitting quite easily with his empty glass, staring expectantly at Tom for some sort of confirmation, some grand display of acceptance or even rejection. If that were the case, Harry would be proven rather disappointed.

Tom sat before him, stoic and silent, his breathing carefully even, yet remarkably deep as though he were trying to keep himself steady. His face was ashen and stood out all the more white against his dark hair and eyes. His hands shook as they gripped the apple, making deep brown bruises on the crisp, red skin until finally the fruit burst in his hands under the strain.

The crushing sensation seemed to awaken Tom to a certain degree. He blinked rapidly for a moment, shaking his head slowly as though trying to awaken from stasis. Closing his eyes, he set the crushed fruit down on the tabletop next to the untouched glass of water and finally looked back up at Harry, his eyes unfocused, his mind working quickly yet his body only slightly responding.

"I need to lie down. Do not follow me." Tom didn't realize he had spoken until he heard his own voice in his ears. Slowly lifting himself from his seat, he retreated back to the staircase without another word, ascending steadily at first, (where he knew Harry could see him still), and then finally allowing himself the handicap of leaning on the doorframe as he stumbled into the master bedroom, slipping the door quietly closed behind him.

Tom had been defeated. No matter which way he turned, he had to face death.

Harry had been genuine, truthful. Tom saw it in his brilliant eyes and his sharp mind as he spoke of the past events between them. He had been so very animated, yet so rushed in their story, their previous encounters.

It seemed incredible that Harry was even sitting there to relay the full chain of events. The tale had been so very outlandish that Tom couldn't blame himself for doubting his counterpart, and yet there were bits that were undeniably true.

His intentions for his family's ring, perhaps for his diary once he managed to get confirmation from another source that creating multiple horcruxes was even possible. The chain of events seemed so very strange and otherworldly, but those two facts tied him to this other individual irreversibly. A story about him that was now, not even about him. The news that his soul fragments were so very easily done away with was disheartening to say the least. Shreds of his pride refused to let him forget that he had so much riding on his Horcrux mechanizations, and to hear of it all crashing down around him was sickening. Or perhaps it just seemed so because Harry was speaking so quickly, so casually about his demise. There was no real way to tell.

Tom collapsed on the bed before him, his empty stomach churning dangerously yet again as he curled up to try to ease the pain. He tried to calm the thoughts and questions buzzing in his head, but was failing miserably as they continued to surface at a frequency that made his hands shake and his head throb.

Harry had come here to change the future, to finish him off before this story ever began.

His father kept screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. _Tom was going to die. It was all because of Harry._

Xx

Harry was starting to wonder if being honest with Tom was the best idea. The boy was clearly in shock. His face had turned ashen, his eyes were unfocused. He looked as though he might faint at any moment. He would have told him everything eventually – had already planned to prior to traveling to Tom's era – but it seemed as though he should have given Tom some time to recover from the first information dump. Maybe this was why Dumbledore had always been so reticent with him, not giving him the full story until it was needed. He wasn't about to agree with that method of imparting information, but he was starting to understand Dumbledore's feelings on the matter.

He waited twenty minutes before ascending the stairs after Tom, carrying the book, glass of water, and a fresh apple with him (the other one was still splattered all over the kitchen table; he would clean it up later). Once he was sure Tom wasn't crying, he nudged the bedroom door open and stepped inside, very quiet on his feet, as though trying not to be heard. The items were dumped on the bedside table. He added a pepper up potion as an afterthought; it had always made him feel better even when he hadn't been ill with a cold.

"If you need a sleeping draught, I'll bring one up for you," he said gently, turning to leave.

He would wait a few days before he told Tom anything else. Give him time to absorb the information he already had. Eventually Tom would know his whole story, but not until Harry was sure it wouldn't be detrimental to his mental health.

The next time Harry came upstairs, it was with a bowl of stew, which he left on a tray beside Tom's bed, covering it with a dishcloth so it would retain its heat until Tom felt peckish enough to eat it. That would be the last Tom saw of Harry for the evening. He retreated to his own bedroom before the sun had even started to set, falling asleep within minutes of curling up beneath the covers.

He wouldn't realize until morning that he had completely forgotten to clean up the splattered apple.


	2. A Trip to London

Summary:

Harry seems to have gotten the situation mostly under control. With Tom safely agreeing to the three guidelines of their unbreakable vow, there's absolutely no way that he can become Voldemort once again. But, when one threat is finally sorted and set aside, another quickly arises. How are Harry and Tom to survive in a war-torn world with limited food supplies? Do they dare risk a trip to the city to try to get the rations that they need?

Notes:

((Thank you so much for all of your wonderful love and support! I am completely honored to have individuals giving this story a read through. If you have any time, could you please leave me a comment, or some kudos? Also, I'm still working on finishing up this storyline, so if you could let me know which parts of this story you find the most interesting or intriguing, I would be extremely grateful. :)

Just in case anyone forgot, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself () and HeroComplexing (). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them. My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee () collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks.))

 **Chapter 2: A Trip to London**

 _This might be his only chance to escape._

The thought had occurred to him far before they had even decided to travel outside the bounds of their small, stolen abode in Little Whinging. Tom knew that they could not survive for an infinite amount of time on the food that they had found within their home. Necessity inspired change to a certain degree. Tom had expected Harry to confine him to the house while he went out to get provisions, but when Harry had announced that both of them would be venturing out tomorrow for London, Tom had to admit himself shocked by the offer.

Their time together since the incident upon their arrival had been tense to say the least. Tom had trouble forcing himself to digest Harry's genuine words and insane thoughts. His mind was still reeling at the revelations, wondering how many holes in their joined tale Harry had simply glazed over. Tom constantly questioned the fate that had been torn away from him, as well as the fate that they were building together now. Would he have achieved immortality had he simply ignored the prophecy? Would he have managed victory over the opposing forces by amassing powers from other magical cultures? Could he have changed his fate, avoided destruction? It was too uncertain to tell, and he hadn't quite decided how to worm that information from his counterpart yet.

He ate little, and he slept less. He found himself approaching everything Harry said and did with extreme caution. It was as though every moment he were on the edge of an attack. He would not allow himself to forget the hate, the simmering rage within Harry's eyes as he had held his wand up to Tom's throat, digging in the tip as he forced him into the vows.

Every word Tom spoke to Harry was carefully plotted, guarded, meant entirely to gain more information from him yet wholeheartedly afraid of what he may find within that information. All the while, the memories of his father, his uncle, and even grotesquely invented ones of his dead mother floated within the back of his mind, robbing him of what small amount of rest he could find with unsettling nightmares.

 _He had to get away. This was his only chance._

Tom held Harry's arm as they apparated into the outskirts of the city proper. He trusted that Harry had some idea of what they were supposed to be doing here, but he wasn't certain that Harry knew exactly how hard it was to find provisions in wartime London, being 'from the future' as he claimed (though Tom still didn't know how much he could trust that fact). Perhaps it had been a sign of Tom's luck turning around, but his 'guardian' had forgotten to specify exactly how close Tom had to stay nearby while they traveled.

The sensation of adrenaline washed over him as he kept his breathing carefully even, calm. "What sort of supplies are we looking for?" He asked softly, releasing his grip on Harry and giving their surroundings a quick glance. He was surprised no one had noticed their arrival, but then again, everyone was on the lookout for the droning sound of an oncoming plane, not the snap of an apparation.

London was crowded today. Granted, London wasn't nearly as crowded as it had been before the war began, but there were more people out on the streets than Tom had remembered there having been in quite a while. It had been a year and a half…no, two years since the aerial attacks had had rained upon the city. While they had slowed down for the most part, every now and then there were still stray bombings, like violent, deadly little thunderstorms, peppering the ground with debris and ruins. The city, the war, the people with their worry-lined faces, drawn with tension and sleeplessness, the ghostly memories of young men (barely older than Tom himself) who had once walked these streets as well; it all put Tom on edge.

Xx

"Uh…just some food," was Harry's answer. He was clearly distracted by his surroundings, surveying the great, gaping holes in buildings as they strode through one of the densest parts of London. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest. He had been too disorientated to take notice of his surroundings the last time he had visited London, and having only frequented areas populated by wizards, there had been little to see even if he had. While the Londoners were adapting and leading as normal a life as they could manage, the damage inflicted had clearly taken its toll on them; many looked wary and fatigued, giving furtive glances to the piles of debris lining the footpaths, perhaps trying to discern how many people could have been caught in the associated attack or if any of the materials were still salvageable.

He wished now more than ever that he could remember more about the war. Hogwart's texts had scarcely mentioned it, and those that did had little to say about the 'muggle military conflict'. Being ten at the time, what he had been told in muggle school provided little insight into The Blitz- when it had begun, when it had stopped, how many buildings had destroyed, and how many people had died.

If nothing else, he was relieved by the lack of bodies on the streets. Civilians were clearly trying their best to make what remained of London livable.

It was mid-July. The streets were less congested in part because those who could afford it had traveled away for the summer, and others still in the process of scraping together the funds would soon follow suit. Harry wondered, briefly, if they ought to follow their example and relocate to the countryside, because if there was even the slightest chance they could be bombed while slumbering he didn't want to take it. Even if they had to live in a tiny hut out somewhere by the sea, it was better than fearing going to sleep at night.

Those thoughts were washed away as he _finally_ came upon a greengrocer. He grasped Tom by the arm and lead him up to the counter, glancing around at what little was available.

"Er, excuse me," he called to the owner of the shop, who raised his head and gave him an once-over, frowning. Harry pushed on. "Could I have some-"

"Don't think I've seen you here before," the man grunted, interrupting him. "Are you registered with us, son?"

"Registered?" he blinked rapidly. "Er, no, we're alone you see, and, uh…" He was having trouble thinking up a believable lie, but thankfully the grocer interrupted him again before he could further embarrass himself.

"You can't buy food unless you're registered," he said, his expression suddenly soft and sympathetic. Whatever conclusion he had reached in his mind it seemed to be one he had encountered multiple times before. Two young, parent-less boys out to buy food; Harry was suddenly struck by the implications of that.

"Sorry, boy. T'both of you. There's no more room here – what's left is spoken for," the man said. "But you can still take yourselves across to Raymond's and register there. There's a bit of a line-up but you ought to be able to get something if you hurry."

He blinked a few more times, bewildered, before tightening his grip on Tom's arm and dragging him away. He yelled 'thank you!' to the man as they re-entered the traffic of the footpath.

Once he had located an alleyway to slip into, he turned to Tom and asked, "What does he mean by 'registered'? How do you do that?" He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the greengrocer they had been referred to. There was indeed a lengthy line waiting for them. "Are all the shops like that? Because I don't have anything to register _with_."

He'd heard about the food rationing, of course, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He didn't know _how_ food had been rationed, and _what_ you needed in order to register for your portion. He was starting to feel bad for the people he had stolen food from during his first day; they were probably struggling enough without some foreign entity coming along and taking what few vegetables they had been allocated.

Xx

The exchange with the kindly, yet downtrodden greengrocer had been intriguing for Tom as well as Harry. The children of the Wool's Orphanage had certainly felt the effects of rationing, being that the amount of food they were allowed to consume had dwindled down to the bare minimum (the best of the portions saved for the small children as well as the employees, whose coupon books included the luxury of larger portions of protein and milk for growth). They were not permitted to do any of the food purchases though. The books of coupons had been handed off to the caretakers and that was the last Tom had seen any of the logistics for 'buying'.

He knew from being around the city though, in order to obtain a booklet, one had to register with a grocer which would then permit them the right, through the government, to rations of food, specified by coupons, and counted out meticulously when the individual in question paid. Tom, of course, didn't have to worry about most of that, being that the children had nothing to do with handling money of any variety.

Distrust? Probably. Was it _warranted_? Most likely, given Tom's penchant for thievery.

After getting tugged into an abandoned alleyway, Tom listened carefully to Harry. It was not necessarily to Harry's words that he was searching, but his tone. The young man was quite 'genuine' enough to show both mentally and verbally exactly when he had exactly no idea what was going on. Tom could have laughed in relief. For the first time since he had his counterpart's presence forced on him, Tom had the upper hand. Harry was delightfully clueless. It was time to use this to his advantage.

Tom's mouth thinned to frustrated line, as he sighed, clearly perplexed, crossing his arms before him and taking a moment to think. "At the orphanage, we, the children I mean, didn't deal with any of the food purchases. I know how the registration for stamp booklets work though." He continued with a purposeful nod. "I can do this for us, but…" He looked with a touch of hesitation at the line outside of the grocery store which the kindly man from earlier had referred to. It snaked down the street, around a few stray piles of rubble which no one had the ability to remove completely yet, directly in front of the skeletons of a few bombed homes which displayed their wooden flooring and drapery like a sick imitation of a ruined doll house. Women held their children close as they slowly inched forward, step by step, to get their rations.

"That must be the line for families." Tom observed, thinking fast, looking back to Harry. "There's a separate one for single individuals like you and I. It'll be far faster if we use it. And the faster that we get registered, the faster we can be out of London." Tom admitted, looking anxiously about them. The very air seemed to hold an exhausted tension which Tom could not stand for long. Needless to say, summers here were absolute torture.

"If you want to go first, I'll wait here." He offered, a hint of urgency in his soft voice. "Or I will, it makes no difference either way. We just need to get our food and get out of here. _Quickly_."

Xx

Tom clearly didn't think much of his intelligence if he thought Harry would leave him on his own in a crowded London street. It'd be too easy to lose him, and then Harry would have to call him back and hope he returned before the vow started to take effect. If Tom thought of separating from Harry as a route of escape, he obviously didn't understand how their arrangement worked. How perilous it was for him to spend any length time away from Harry at all. He might not have set up any boundaries yet, but Harry hadn't dismissed Tom, either; he would only be able to get so far before the lightning bolt shaped scar on his arm twinged in an effort to get him to turn back.

"We're better off than any muggles are, and if they can calmly wait in the family line, so can we."

He set a hand between Tom's shoulder blades and guided him to the mouth of the alleyway. Tom's nerves were understandable, but both of them were _wizards_ ; they wouldn't be crushed or killed by flying shrapnel or caught in a fire because they – out of the hundreds of people occupying the streets – were the only ones capable of protecting themselves. They were privileged with safety, while the muggles… they just had to leap into the nearest shelter, clench their fists, and hope to god they didn't die in the same painful, messy way so many of their family and friends already had.

Harry felt a heavy burden of guilt developing on his conscience. He really needed to stop doing that. Just because he had been born into the role of savior for one war didn't mean he could to be the savior of every war he encountered ('hero complex' had been a common criticism in his youth and that had only become more apparent as he had aged). Besides, this war already had an end. It didn't need Harry's intervention.

Slipping his hand away from Tom, he peered across the street with a frown; where was the second line?

"Looks like this shop doesn't have a second line, anyway. We'll have to join the family one."

Xx

 _Goddamn him._

Harry had seen through his ploy in seconds, and now he attempted to humiliate him, he was pointing out the fact that the second line never existed. It had been Tom's lie from the beginning, but he was grasping at straws. Any excuse to get Harry away from himself would be a good one. Running away should not be resorted to unless all other efforts seemed to be failing, but at the moment, Tom's mind was coming up with nothing else that would take him away from Harry.

And there was always the question of the vows, and how far he might be able to push his luck until…

Tom wondered briefly what might happen if he broke any of the vows. Unconsciously, the lightning bolt scar traced into his arm twinged, itching annoyingly, as though reminding him of the words he had clearly been forced into speaking. Harry might have seemed casual, even foolishly, or heartbreakingly caring at times, but Tom could not allow himself the luxury of forgetting the cold hatred in those brilliantly green eyes as Harry had pressed his wand against Tom's jugular and forced him into this predicament.

Harry's hand pressed against his shoulder blades were anything but a comfort. They were a reminder of who was in control, who he had to answer to despite the understanding tone that Harry had taken with him since their rather 'educational' conversation following the vows. Maybe some part of this man did pity Tom to a certain degree, but Tom wondered how long pity would last when he realized that Tom was still his enemy. Or rather going to be his enemy. Or perhaps would have once been someone who was going to be his enemy…?

 _Merlin, what kind of mess had Harry gotten them into?_

Tom glared venomously down at Harry. The tension running all throughout his body seemed to be a feeling shared by the entire street full of the line. They would be waiting in this forever, and Tom wasn't even certain if they would be able to register. Without being a legal owner of a property, or any sort of registration papers, or even being an adult citizen of England, there wasn't much of a reason for a country at war to provide them with precious provisions. _An underage, penniless orphan and an unregistered, homeless adult?_ There wasn't a shot in hell they would be getting any sort of food.

Tom glanced at the individuals around them. The mother who had joined the line behind them was attending to the crying child in her arms while taking the other child by his hand to keep him nearby. In front of them, a rigid looking, middle aged woman spoke briskly in undertones to her two, scruffy, adolescent sons. No one was listening to himself and Harry. Everyone was too tired, too afraid to care.

"We'll have to falsify our documents or control our attendant. Do you think you can do that?" Tom asked Harry softly, but his voice was quick and sharp with agitation. He was staring at the setting sun with the same amount of apprehension and fear that the rest of the crowd was.

Xx

At the end of the lengthy line of people Harry could see the greengrocer retrieving food items from his shelves. He would pile them into a paper bag and it to his customer with their rations booklet tucked inside. Rarely was there enough to warrant more than one paper bag. With the added task of filling out the rations booklets, the line was edging along painfully slow. Harry glanced to the sky the same time Tom did, watching as orange hues streaked through the clouds and faded into pink, yellow, and then white. It would be dark soon.

"-Wait, what?" Harry jerked his head around to face Tom. "I thought…? Never mind." Tom had lied. Of course he had. This was what he got for giving Tom Riddle the benefit of the doubt. Reaching into the folds of his robes, he withdrew his wand in preparation to use the imperious curse. It would be the second time in a week he'd used an unforgivable, and this time on an innocent, unsuspecting muggle. It didn't bother him as much as he would have liked. Maybe he was starting to get desensitized.

That thought wasn't one he entertained for long.

They waited what Harry approximated to be twenty minutes before they reached their turn. By then the shop directly adjacent to them had turned on their light, casting them in a tawny glow. It was muffled slightly by the black paint smothered over the glass. With how fast people were retreating back into the safety of their shops, it wasn't likely they would be able to purchase anything more than vegetables today, but that was alright; Harry could whip up some vegetable soup to last them until tomorrow, after which he would return for additional supplies.

The spell was cast. The man smiled, his eyes glazed, and asked in a soft, accommodating voice if Harry would like a bag, and just how many vegetables he would like to buy today. Harry wanted to get this over and done with as quick as possible and was digging a hand into his robes long before the man began to speak. He tossed a rather large note his way and requested one of everything, casting furtive glances to the people behind them, wondering if they thought it odd that he hadn't presented a rations booklet.

"You can keep the rest," he told the man, who had started thumbing through his till in search of notes large enough to use as change. He smiled, closed the till, and turned to start bagging their items.

Harry wasn't much worried about running out of money. They would, eventually, but the sort of money he had on him went a long way in this era.

Xx

Tom wasn't certain why Harry had bothered to cast furtive glances around them. The streets were hastily emptying as the sun dipped more slowly towards the horizon line. Tom didn't have a working watch (he simply could not afford one), but it was more than clear to him that curfew was fast approaching. The only thing that had kept the greengrocer from sending them on their way without any provisions was most likely Harry's skill using his dark magic.

Even while the fear grew within Tom, he collected bits and pieces of what he could about his counterpart. He was adept at dark magic, and rather rich (by the looks of how little he seemed to care for the money he hastily shoved at the extremely accommodating shopkeeper). One of everything would not get them very far, of course, but Tom wasn't about to interject. Any information that he could keep from his captor was precious at this point, something that may be used for his survival and eventual escape

 _Do not forget who holds the power over you and who could just as easily use it against you._

The sun had now disappeared and the glow was quickly retreating. At this point, about five years ago, one could have expected street lights flickering to life, but nothing responded now. The growing darkness felt remarkably cold for this time of year, and the light which hastily flickered and went out behind the curtains of the shop did not lessen the feeling of absolute, frightful solitude.

He had been trying to find a way to escape all this time, but as the darkness closed around him, he realized that to ensure survival, they had to get out immediately. The street was deserted. Everyone from the mother with the crying child to the stern family that had shared a line with them had disappeared indoors.

"Harry-" Tom whispered, his voice tight, ragged, ready to suggest they retreat when suddenly he heard it.

The air raid sirens exploded into the air, breaking the tense silence with a low, resounding wail. Tom froze, his attention snapping upward as though he might be able to see the black shadows of the planes within the growing darkness. He grabbed at Harry's cloak, his grip like a vice as he dragged him quickly to a nearby alleyway.

Doors were shut and locked, lights were put out, the street descended into complete darkness and the sirens moaned onward, clear, crisp and jarring. All of the tense thoughts, the plans, the lies which Tom had been laboring over during the past few days descend into a buzzing madness. He felt himself heating up, as though his body simply could not contain all of the panic and adrenaline that was pumping through this fragile, _mortal frame_.

His breathing couldn't catch up with his body, his body couldn't catch up with his mind, his mind couldn't catch up with his thoughts. Tom gripped the side of the stone building for support as the sirens roared onward. There was no more defense, no magic that could have kept the exploding buildings from falling down around him.

He was going to be crushed, to disappear in bloody mess of bones, gore and shit. He was going to be dragged out of a mass of rubble, halfway intact just like he had seen them do so many times before, to be lined up for no one to recognize. Who would know him? And if they did, who would admit to knowing?

This was how he, Tom Riddle, was going to die.

Xx

The paper bag full of their groceries had torn in two as Tom forced them to flee, dragging him more bodily than Harry had known him capable into the stifling darkness of an alleyway. The vegetables lay scattered across the pavement and asphalt, forgotten.

The siren was thundering through his head and disrupting his thoughts before they could surface, making them bob in and out of focus like a buoy. He didn't seem able to calm himself down. He knew only that he was very, very afraid, and that it had been a long time since he had been afraid like this; this terror was better associated with a younger Harry potter, naive enough and alive enough to still be afraid of dying.

When a strangled thought finally did managed to reach his comprehension, it was only one word, 'escape'. He grabbed Tom's wrist and apparated to safety.

At least, he had thought it was safety before they staggered into Little Whinging and were presented with a clear, black sky with a few distant aberrations soaring towards them like falling stars. It didn't matter where you stood, where you looked from, it would inevitably look as though you were about to die.

Harry's was frozen in place for all of a few seconds before his mind grasped at a new place to apparate: Hogwarts. The place he had always felt safest. Their surroundings swirled and distorted and suddenly they were falling into soft green grass, far from the castle, its lights twinkling reassuringly in the dark of the night. There was no siren. There were no bombs. There was no sign at all that they had just fled a war zone except the mutual buzzing of their minds.

He was draped over Tom's body, his hand still wrapped tight around that thin, pale wrist. He quickly released it; there were nasty pink finger marks embedded into the skin. He dragged his eyes up to Tom's face and noticed the boy was scarcely breathing, looking as white and shaken as he had upon being told his own legacy. Harry cupped that pallid face in his hands, wincing at how cold and clammy the skin was, and tried to draw his focus back into reality.

"It's – it's okay Tom. We're fine. You didn't think I'd let us die, did you?" He was glad Tom was lying down; Harry didn't know much standard first aid, but he had heard somewhere that lying down was the best thing for people in shock.

Xx

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tom could feel Harry's hand close around his wrist, gripping it with a desperate intensity. He could feel the fear in Harry's mind, the shock and the horror at the blaring of the sirens and twisting, tugging, sickening sensation of a slide along apparation but Tom's mind was too far away to comprehend it.

Memories flooded back to Tom. He saw flashes of brilliant color in darkness as small firebombs were dropped through thin the thin, flammable roofs of the Orphanage, of ashes filling the air as flames sprung up like spring daisies. He remembered the boy who used to deliver the newspaper to Mrs. Cole, what it was like to see him, grey and bloody as they pulled him from the wreckage. He had been even younger than Tom.

Memories of houses reduced to rubble in mere seconds, as if God had grown bored with his toys and decided it best to start over from the beginning. Stone, ash and fire that fell like rain. Bodies, young and old, whole or torn, lined up, lifeless and cold as tin soldiers.

Tom remembered just a few years prior, sitting on his stiff orphanage bed, listening for the low buzzing of doodlebugs, clutching at a wand which he was not permitted to use. He recalled the sad, pitying smile he had received from Headmaster Dippet as the man repeated slowly for the third time, "It's simply not done this way. You couldn't possibly stay over the summer."

He remembered the first time he had heard those sirens and how he had scoffed at them. He was _magical_. He was _special_. He couldn't be touched by these idiotic muggle killing machines. He had taken the chaos as an opportunity to sneak away. Oh, how quickly he had learned that death would never discriminate between those with or without the ability to use magic. After the extent of the destruction became all too apparent to him, Tom had barely managed to retreat back to a nearby shelter in time. He could never seem to forget the sight of buildings crumbling like sand castles at high tide, or the screams which accompanied them.

Tom felt his feet hit solid ground, but in the darkness he could not even begin to tell where he was. All that his mind could comprehend was that the sirens were farther out now, and the night had swallowed all light.

All at once, the twisting sensation returned and Harry's hand tightened on his wrist yet again. As suddenly as it had come, the sensation was gone and Tom felt himself slam on to the ground. The scent of soil and grass filled his nostrils, but he could barely breathe enough to recognize it. The heavy weight on top of him shifted, but the buzzing and swirling of the thoughts made it impossible for him to completely comprehend anything aside from fire, ash, blood and destruction.

Harry's eyes came into clear focus, impossibly brilliant in the darkness which surrounded them, and the feeling of hands cupping the sides of his face. He saw Harry's mouth moving but he couldn't hear anything aside from the low buzzing, the wailing sirens, the pained screams. Harry was imploring him to _do something,_ but it was all Tom could do to keep fighting for breath through his panicked state, Tom's fingertips dug into the soil beneath him, tearing at the verdant grass as his jaw clenched tightly. One clear thought seemed to surface through the rest, all focused on those shining eyes floating above him. _Survive. He had to survive._

All at once, something seemed to snap within Tom. He gasped, gulping down air so quickly, so hungrily that it hurt. All the while, his focus stayed firmly on those imploring, worried eyes floating above him as he lay on the ground, gasping and shaking.

Xx

The peculiarity of being hunched over his archenemy, soothing a hand through his dark hair, cupping his cheek, was not lost on Harry. What he knew of Tom Riddle had always suggested he was a highly composed individual, a textbook case of a psychopath, right down to torturing and killing small animals as a child. The gasping, shuddering boy beneath him was completely incongruous with the Tom Riddle that occupied Harry's every waking thought, and with every new display of weakness, of _vulnerability_ , Harry was finding it more and more difficult to see this Tom Riddle as the one he had known his entire life. He was more human than Harry had ever thought he could be.

"-You're breathing. Good! Fantastic! Keep on doing that, otherwise you'll pass out and I'll have to carry you all the way to Hogsmeade." Keep on talking. Provide leverage. Harry couldn't profess to know exactly what he was doing; he generally sought out repression and anger when dealing with his own trauma, and he had always been quick to recover from his experiences, if not wholly intact. He would have given Tom Lupin's miracle cure – chocolate – had he any on hand.

The only thing he had was a flask of tonic water. It probably wouldn't help as much as chocolate would have, but it was a start. "Here," he said, retrieving Tom's white-knuckled hand from the grass and curling his fingers around the flask. "You'll want to sit up first so you don't choke on the water. Just…" Positioning himself beside Tom, he slid an arm beneath his quaking shoulders and dragged him upright, keeping him pressed tight to his chest. "There. There's a little bit of fire whiskey in that, so that might help."

Just a _smidgen_ of fire whiskey had been added to help Harry sleep, especially on cold nights. He rarely drank it unstilled these days and would never understand why Ron had preferred it that way; it seared your throat when consumed straight.

"We won't be going back to that house," he continued, because he was sure this news would improve Tom's mood. "I'll find somewhere else to stay. A village or something. Or we could camp. I've got a portable tent in my pocket somewhere."

Xx

Tom felt suddenly quite exposed. He couldn't explain how or why that was, but lying there, finally catching up to his breath as his shattered thoughts began to piece themselves together, he felt as though he had revealed something which he could not erase from his counterpart's mind. He wished he could cover the entire fiasco up. As though it were as easily as wrapping himself in cloth, or hiding away his face, or making a petty, witty joke at Harry's expense, but there was nothing which could erase the fear that Harry had witnessed, the terror and desperation which he was so careful to keep in check.

Harry had spied the weakness behind Tom's mask.

Tom felt his tension ease as Harry's worried, yet gratingly cheerful tone broke through the silence which had settled in the wake of his panic attack. That was what it had been, hadn't it? He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of completely breaking down before, but it seemed similar to previous episodes he had when he was quite a bit younger (before his time at Hogwarts). It had been years since he had lost control to this extent. The last time, he had ended up accidentally setting half of his possessions on fire with uncontrolled, wild magic. In retrospect, Harry was quite lucky he had not repeated the mishap.

Harry was still looking down at him pleadingly. The sound of his voice was gradually growing stronger as Tom's breathing regulated to the point of being 'normal'. His heart was still hammering wildly at his ribcage, as though trying to escape, but Tom would have none of this continuing. Harry had seen more than enough to humiliate Tom tonight. He would put an end to this weakness.

 _Immediately_.

His shaking hands closed to fists, gripping hard until the trembling ceased. He snapped his eyes shut, the sight of Harry's soft, caring face burned in his vision as he trained his own expression into unreadability. He had practiced this so many times before, forced his weakness behind the facade of power and calm control. Power was easier; that, he had in spades as a birthright. Calm control was something he had to constantly keep in the forefront of his mind.

Tom heard Harry's hopeful tones yet again and upon opening his eyes he was met with the sight of Harry trying to hoist him up to a sitting position. He complied easily enough, shaking his head slowly as he felt a small, metal flask being forced into his hands. Taking the flask, he listened intently to Harry's voice, not necessarily the words but rather, the inflection and intent. Helpful, imploring, caring. Tom looked over to his counterpart yet again, letting Harry's expression do the talking, rather than all that useless babble.

It seemed worlds away from the hate filled threats he had endured just a few days earlier. Tom's expression softened with confusion and without meaning to, the words slipped from his mouth. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was ragged and dry, but softer with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

Xx

And here, inevitably, came the shame and repression. Harry had enough experience with the aftermaths of an emotional outburst to know exactly how Tom _wouldn't_ want him to respond, though he had to do a bit of guess work in regards to how Tom _would_ want him to respond. He continued holding Tom to his chest, considering Tom's question. That could mean a great many things, but in this context, he probably meant it to mean 'why're you being so nice'. The kindness he was displaying was contrary to some of his earlier behaviour; the threatening, more specifically. Tom had to assume that the anger and hate was as much part of his personality as his other behaviors, for safety's sake, but that wasn't the kind of person Harry was. Even after losing everything, he was still Dumbledore's 'golden boy'.

"Well, for starters, I brought you to a war zone, which was really stupid." He shrugged a shoulder, jostling Tom. "And I didn't want you to get sick again or something. There's not enough in your stomach for that. Would've made you feel way worse." Another shrug and he slowly stretched a leg out beneath Tom's torso, giving Tom additional support. "But we can go to Hogsmeade and get something to eat there. You'll probably be recognized, but that's alright; you can just introduce me as a friend or something."

He couldn't decide between camping or staying at Hogsmeade for the night. _Only_ the night. They wouldn't be able to rest at the latter for any longer than that, least they attract unwanted attention.

He leaned back on a hand, peering across the rolling hills to where Hogwarts stood, looking more inviting than it ever had before. Nostalgia was coiling in his gut. He really did miss the days where he could be a carefree schoolboy, before Voldemort's resurrection, before the entire wizarding world had seemed to start conspiring against him. When it was just him, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius.

Wetting his lips, he looked down at Tom.

"You should drink something."

Xx

Harry was pretty terrible at lying.

On a certain level, it was almost comical. The man with all of the power between them couldn't seem to tell Tom the complete truth about the situation. Dark secrets hid within his pensive silences. As Harry wondered what Tom meant, Tom knew exactly what Harry meant: that he did not yet trust him. Understandable, considering Tom's current standing with him as a 'casual prisoner' of sorts, but Harry also seemed just as unwilling to leave Tom in the dark, afraid and alone.

Tom felt himself being shifted every time Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Twice. The man had absolutely no idea how to 'act natural'. His naiveté could have been considered adorable in any other circumstance. He closed his eyes, letting his confused notions finally piece themselves into a question, the real question he had been searching for from the beginning. He reveled in the sensation of being away from those bombs, those sirens, and all of the fire and death. Withdrawing from Harry, he fixed him with an unreadable, piercing stare.

"That's not what I meant." Tom questioned in a low, personal whisper, as though afraid of being overheard, or worse, completely understood. "You traveled from the future to the past, meaning that you doomed yourself to abandon everything and everyone that you knew and loved." Tom paused, pensive for a moment. "Or perhaps, everything that I hadn't already taken from you, by the sounds of it."

"If you would have left me, I would have been just another body of a boy found during an Air Raid. It would have been all too easy, and no one would have connected you to me directly. Bloody hell, they probably would not have even known how to find out who I was. I've no one to speak for me. My family-" He cut off, his mouth tightened as he thought back on his father's horrified face, his fearful screams, his enraged grandfather and despairing grandmother.

"What I meant was, why allow me to live? Better yet, why try to save me? None of this makes sense." He breathed.

Xx

"Tom, _really_?" Try as he might to maintain a neutral tone, Harry's voice was a touch exasperated. He knew Tom's assumptions weren't unreasonable but he couldn't help but feel a little bit slighted by Tom thinking he would leave him to become a smeared patch of boy on the asphalt. It wasn't likely he would have been hit, anyway, and what would have Harry done then? "You're alive because I don't want you dead. I _never_ wanted you dead; most of the time I didn't even want to kill the version of you that was actively trying to kill _me_. And I definitely wouldn't leave you to die after giving you food, water, and shelter for almost a week; that'd be kind of screwed up, wouldn't it?"

He inhaled sharply, his lungs protesting the introduction of chilly night air.

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, and definitely not by my own hands. The initial threat against your life was just a last resort, but you accepted the vow, so now you're my responsibility."

The intensity of which Tom was staring at him compelled Harry to turn away, his fingers twisting and pulling at a tuft of grass. It was a penetrating sort of look, and considering Tom was a gifted legilimence, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly what he was doing. All the more reason for Harry to suddenly find the horizon very, very interesting, his eyes roving over the clusters of stars that flanked the forest.

"Besides," he continued in a mumble. "It'd kind of suck to be all on my own, not able to tell anyone I'm from the future without being labelled mentally unstable. Which you've already done a few times, probably, but that's probably more of a defense mechanism since you haven't yet tried to tell me I'm a liar."

Xx

Tom listened as Harry spoke. He heard the words, but he was looking for something much deeper: the meaning within Harry's tone, the feeling behind his sentiments, the _truth_ within his statements. Clarity rolled over his mind, crisp, genuine and refreshing as a breath of fresh air when Tom seemed to have been living in a world of smoke and fog. It dawned on him so suddenly that the realization was almost blinding, jarring. Harry's mind was so starkly different from his own that it felt like the difference between boiling and freezing, yet there was something oddly comforting about the change of pace.

When Harry snapped his attention away once again, Tom could not necessarily blame him. He was obviously familiar with the concept of mental invasion, of legillmency, but he had not expected the chill which ran down his spine from being cut off so suddenly. Tom sighed lightly. He thought back on the words, but even more than that, he dwelled on the feeling that came with it, the clarity, the responsibility, the tinge of frustration. Without even meaning to, Tom had rested his head on Harry's shoulder. For the first time since learning of his family, he felt the intense stress and fear begin to dissipate as relief numbed the pain.

Maybe Harry really _didn't_ want him to die after all. Dare he hope it? Hope certainly had not allowed him to survive this long. Then again, there was definite evidence here to support his counterpart. Harry could have easily killed him days ago now, or let him die all on his own. He had even gone so far as to protect, feed and shelter him. It still didn't entirely make sense, but it seemed at least somewhat dependable.

"We will go to Hogsmeade." Tom sighed. "They won't recognize me there. I hardly go there to begin with, I'm far too busy studying. When I do go, I'm usually not frequenting the typical sights, so we should be safe at the Three Broomsticks for a time."

"And, Harry…" He paused, pushing himself away from Harry now, straightening a bit and looking much more like his own charismatic, (albeit exhausted and starving) self as he quirked a brow and gave Harry a tired smile. "You may be insane, but you're certainly not a liar. Just as I may be a liar, but I'm certainly not insane."

Xx

Harry rose to his feet, brushing moisture and grass off of his knees and ass with his palms, not quite managing to get all of it. That was alright. There would be time to make himself more presentable once they were in the Three Broomsticks. At some point he would have to purchase something more era-appropriate to wear than the shirt, jeans, and sneakers he was currently wearing; he hadn't seen anyone else wearing jeans yet, which meant he would stick out like a sore thumb if he was ever to go around without his cloak.

"You might've been better off telling me 'you're a liar' _after_ we'd settled into the Three Broomsticks." As he said this, he wore a playful sort of smile. It wasn't a comment intended to make Tom think Harry doubted him. Even if he was lying, they would only be staying there the night; he'd decided his galleons would stretch further if they camped.

Hogsmeade was across the river, and as they were without a boat… Harry extended a hand to Tom, gesturing for him to take it. He could have just grabbed him and apparated, but he'd been doing that an awful lot recently and he was sure Tom was getting tired of the disorientation.

"And I'm not insane," he added, almost as an afterthought. "At least, if I am, I'm not aware of it." He was sure Sirius would have found such a comment amusing. Whether or not Tom did remained to be seen.

Xx

"I would have thought you'd have caught on by now." Tom's voice was brisk, but playful. Something seemed strikingly more natural about the way he smirked at Harry as the other man pushed himself off of the ground and gave Hogsmeade a precursory glance. As Tom sat there, exhausted as he was, he seemed significantly less tense than he had within the last week or so.

There was a distinctly purposeful nature to the other man that made Tom think that there was a great deal more to Mr. Harry Potter than he had first assumed. Resourceful, willful, sarcastic, useful and skilled. _Genuine_. Tom could never let himself forget about how deadly he was as well. Harry wanted him to put that memory far away from Tom's mind, but death was a constant fear for him. He couldn't bring himself to erase when the threat of it had been staring him in the face with piercingly green eyes. Could he move past this notion though?

Harry offered his hand and Tom tensed. Staring blankly up at him was all Tom could do. Was it all a ploy? Gain his trust in order to smash it, tear away the only thing Tom had ever valued, _his life and power_?

Tom took a deep breath and then huffed in frustration, letting the chilly night air fill his lungs before taking Harry's hand and lifting himself from the ground. Tom shook his head in laughing softly as he patted away a few stray pieces of grass on the front of his shirt, trousers and backside, then running his hands through his hair for good measure (just in case some had found their way there as well). "Time traveling and politely holding your archenemy hostage? Harry, you're absolutely barmy."

Perking up, Tom spotted a few bits of grass which Harry had missed, stuck at odd angles in his hair. Delicately, he pulled the blades out while he continued speaking pensively. "Then again, I'm along for the ride, so I must be just as mad."

Xx

Harry spied Tom's hesitation, and he wasn't surprised, nor disappointed by the sight of it. Both of them had trust issues they would need to work on. It wasn't likely they would ever trust each other fully, all things considered, but that didn't mean they couldn't have an amicable relationship. The way Tom smiled and laughed and picked grass out of Harry's hair seemed to Harry a promise of a less turbulent future.

 _Or Tom's just buttering you up_ , his mind provided unhelpfully. It was rarely helpful these days, always burdening him with paranoia and nightmares.

"I think that goes without saying. I mean, you _did_ think Horcrux's were a brilliant idea." Harry reached down and claimed Tom's hand again, pausing briefly before he tugged him into the moonlight.

Tom's eyes looked even darker than usual at night. His pupils were almost indistinguishable from his irises. Would they ever gleam red while his soul was intact, or was that feature only present as a consequence of the creation of Horcrux's? He couldn't remember if they had gleamed red prior to splitting his soul. It had been such a long time since he had been privy to Voldemort's memories.

"…Right, well. We'll get a room at the Three Broomsticks for the night, then set up camp somewhere tomorrow morning." He readjusted his grip on Tom's hand and started to turn, and seconds later they descended on Hogsmeade, landing awkwardly on their feet before their destination. It looked almost exactly like it would in sixty years. How convenient.

Releasing Tom's hand, he entered the pub. "Do you want a butterbeer? Firewhiskey-? Wait, no. You can't have that one yet, right? Your birthday's in December." As much as Harry enjoyed butterbeer, he would be ordering himself Mulled Mead. It would help him relax, and god knows he needed to relax after witnessing a raid.

With that in mind, he added. "I could still get it for you, but you'll have to drink it discreetly." Because he was sure Tom needed to relax just as much as he did.

Xx

"I think ' _Immortality_ ' is a brilliant idea, Harry. A Horcrux are just a vehicle." Tom stated fluidly (despite his somewhat rough voice from the night's proceedings). It was startling how warm Harry's hand was in the chill of the night air. Or perhaps it was that Tom had just gotten cold yet again. He was rather sensitive to the chilly weather and found that his graceful, slender hands became frozen in a matter of minutes in the winter season. It was not that he would ever admit his slight weakness aloud, but it was rather cumbersome.

Particularly when Harry remained so warm. It was probably the adrenaline buzzing through Harry's system, or the magic he was currently using. That seemed logical enough.

Harry gaze lingered on him for a moment as though assessing him before pulling his hand into the moonlight. Suddenly, he felt the twirling, squeezing feeling of being forced through time and space once again. His feet hit the ground on the worn out cobblestones before the Three Broomsticks before pitching him forward slightly. He caught himself, sighing in relief as he drew himself back up to full, confident height. Despite his ashen face and slightly trembling hands (hardly visible as he kept them at his sides), he looked every bit as self-assured and remarkably beautiful as usual.

Tom followed after Harry, making eye contact with absolutely no one in particular, seeming impressive and unapproachable all at once. He settled down at a table in the quiet corner, making sure that both seats had an easy path to the entrance (such practices had become second nature to Tom).

"No, I'm-" Tom answered quickly, meaning to refuse any alcohol, then stopped himself, looking at his pale hand, the slight tremors which ran through his fingertips which made it nearly impossible to hold his hand still. He gulped heavily. "Yes, if you would. Some wine would be pleasant. And food, any variety." He admitted, feeling sullen by the admonition of his rather 'human' weakness: a need for sustenance.

It was strange to actually be asking for food. Tom was no longer hungry. His body had reached the point that his stomach had felt so numb with fear and dread that it had stopped reminding him of his need to eat. Yet, he knew that he needed to sustain himself. He had hardly consumed much in the past week beyond what he would have needed to keep his wits about him, but now that he had decided…now that Harry had saved him from…

Perhaps the best phrasing could only be: now that he was certain that Harry wasn't going to murder him immediately, he needed to try to take care of himself. What a strange notion, to be cooperative to the man who had completely foiled his plans, Tom reflected as he tried to keep his mind from the memory of those eyes looking imploringly down at him, the words he couldn't hear at the time above his mind's panicked explosion.

Xx

It didn't take Harry long to get everything arranged, which wasn't necessarily a good thing; by the time he had finished paying for their meals and room the bartender had convinced him to stay an additional three days. 'We charge our overnights customers more, y'see,' the man had explained in a conspiratorial whisper. 'T'make up for the customers that might have stayed longer if the room was free. It's cheaper this way.'

'Cheaper' was all he'd really needed to say. Growing up with a complete absence of money and then being thrust into prosperity at the age of eleven meant Harry was completely oblivious when it came to regulating money, so he let words like 'cheap' and 'expensive' make his decisions for him.

When he returned to their table, he was holding a rather old looking key with a roman numeral on its tag. "I told them to bring the food to our room," he said, gesturing for Tom to follow him. He was already heading for the staircase. "It's number, uh…" A glance at the key. "…Nine."

Their room was small, but homely, with a log fire and a single bed pressed up against the far back wall. Harry shrugged off his cloak as he entered, folding it over his forearm. It was the first time he'd ever removed it in Tom's presence. Paranoia usually prevented him from being relaxed enough to do so, no matter how hot it got, but now that it was off Tom would be able to see there wasn't anything spectacular beneath. Just a short-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, red sneakers, and a single, fingerless glove on his right hand, the other one being conspicuously absent. Nothing of great interest.

He threw himself down onto a floral-patterned settee, letting his cloak drop into his lap while he ran his hands up and down his face. It was all sweaty and gross. Hopefully there would be a shower available for use, though he doubted it from the look of the place; it was so old fashioned he would probably have to drag out an old tin bath if he wanted to bathe.

"I ordered you some stew and wine," he said as he slid his arms behind his head. "I've never had the wine myself, but it was more expensive than what I got so it has to be something good.

Xx

Tom had nodded and followed after Harry without complaint. To have a bit of privacy after their ordeal in London sounded all too tempting, and Tom was understanding of Harry for not wanting to be out in the open wearing his sloppy, oddly styled clothing. If his companion was anything to judge by, their future was looking rather casual and…drab.

The room itself was rather large and surprisingly cozy for what he would have expected from the Three Broomsticks. He had always assumed that the tavern was primarily just that, a tavern and not an Inn. As it turned out, they were more than prepared for those who had tipped back just a few too many pints. The fireplace crackled comfortingly from the outer wall, giving the entire room a warm, welcoming glow.

There was something otherworldly about the entire scene, truth be told. It was a testament to the extent of how much Tom truly loved magic. He could escape the terror of living with his kidnapper and possible murderer, step out of the ruins of the bombings in London, bounce back from the panic attack under the stars, as long as he had the magic world waiting for him here.

Harry's worried, imploring expression flashed in his memory. Tom took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. His eyes roved to their one, rather squashy looking bed, covered by a thick, fluffy quilt. There was something peculiar about that fact, but before Tom could bring himself to consider it he found himself distracted by an even more peculiar mystery.

Harry's black glove. A single black glove. Tom's eyebrows drew themselves into a perplexed line as he gracefully sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Harry's right hand. He paused, wondering if he should bother to voice his question, wondering if he'd even get a response but he couldn't quite help himself. His exhaustion seemed to have ebbed away at his usual tact.

"Why are you wearing that?" Tom asked, completely disregarding Harry's information about dinner in lieu of more intriguing conversation. "That glove, I mean." He gestured to Harry's hand.

Xx

The bed wasn't an ideal place to sit for dinner, and Harry had been about to say as much when he noticed Tom staring at his hand. In his confusion, he looked down at it too, examining it for anything that might have caught Tom's interest. Harry had never been the most astute of people, and testament to that, it wasn't until Tom had started to speak that he realized the source of his curiosity.

"Because I don't want to see what's beneath it," he said simply. He wasn't trying to hide anything; that much was clear by his choice of words, but extending Tom the knowledge that there was indeed something hidden beneath the fabric didn't mean Harry was about to unveil it.

"You aren't going to sit over there while you eat, are you?" Harry asked, a blatant attempt to change the subject. He didn't fancy spending the evening trying to persuade Tom the glove wasn't worth investigating. "I didn't put my legs up specifically so you could eat at the coffee table, which… well, it is a bit low, I guess. But I can fix that." He withdrew his wand and did just that. The table shot up to waist height, its legs thinning as compensation for the additional inches.

There was a knock on the door before he could continue blathering on, which was probably a good thing. A server stepped inside with a pint of mead and a wine bottle. The wine bottle was set on the coffee table along with a dainty looking glass, while Harry's mead was pressed straight into his hands. Evidently this man knew which of them intended to get drunk tonight.

"It'll refill on its own," he said on his way out the door, gently closing it behind him.

Harry took a gulp of his drink and was immediately warmed by it. It had all the benefits of firewhisky without the searing discomfort in his throat.

Speaking of firewhisky… "Tom, did you drop my flask?" Because he hadn't seen it since they had apparated.

Xx

Tom didn't know what to make of the comment about the glove. Of course, the words were evasive, but his expression was even more closed off than Tom would have suspected Harry of. It was clear to Tom that he had made a misstep in asking him outright for the answer, but one couldn't always be tactful and smooth, particularly with someone he had literally been spending all of his time with. He kept himself carefully silent, watching with interest as Harry refused to expand on the topic.

It was alright. Tom could wait. He was a patient man and like Harry had told him, they would be spending a great deal of time together.

"Of course I wouldn't eat on the bed." Tom snipped, rolling his eyes as though it were the most obvious fact between them. Truth be told, the sight of somewhere to rest after this night's events had forced food from his mind. The sight of Harry using magic to heighten the table made him long for the feel of his own wand as one may remember the soft touch of a security blanket. He missed the spark of power and energy he got from holding what at face value was just a pale, thin wooden stick. Yet it hid so much more than that.

It was magic that he missed.

His fingertips tingled a bit uncomfortably, realizing the power that was building up within him and no outlet with which to channel it. He had not had this sort of problem since his very early years, his 'demon days' as he fondly referred to them when the head of the orphanage had referred to him as a child of the devil for 'moving objects' and 'making things about him burn and spark'. This was before Mrs. Wool had arrived, constantly nipping at her brandy and scotch, ready to overlook his worst transgressions with a mere slap on the wrist and a careful eye moving forward.

Tom perked up when the server came in. The man set down the wine for Tom, along with a rather graceful looking glass. He handed the bottle of what must have been mead to Harry before quickly, politely departing. No food. Oh well. Tom's deadened stomach was not really reacting to much prompting anyway.

Tom moved himself smoothly from the bed to seating himself right beside Harry on the floral settee, drawing Harry's flask out of one of his robe pockets with the smooth motion of a practiced thief, setting it on the table beside the bottle. "You know," He began softly, reaching out the delicate fingers of his slender hand, watching as the glass slid eerily toward him. He motioned smoothly with a single fingertip and it followed along, rotating gently and lazily as Tom spoke in an offhanded manner. "I suppose, it never really matters what's happening to the world outside this one." He admitted softly. "No bombs, no hunger, no war. It's only magic here." He stopped directing the glass and instead reached out, drawing the wine bottle to him, letting it slide in his direction, motioning for it to evade the flask beside it, before picking it up and filling the crystalline glass.

"This place is…" He trailed pensively, pausing as though words were escaping him. "It feels like a gift when I want it to be a birthright. You understand that, _don't you_?" He couldn't deny the longing from his voice. He picked up the glass, took a deep draw of the dry, red wine.

 _If he had killed his father, it would have been the last tie to that disgusting, filthy, mundane world he had left. If only he had just gotten to the spell sooner._ His silence brought memories he simply could not stand, the buzzing of his mind brought the scream of his father, the terror and the truth of his rape and the devastation it had wreaked on his life, of the fear he bore for his unclaimed child. In that moment, Tom would have done anything to escape that silence, that scream.

"There's only one bed." Tom interrupted his spiraling grim thoughts with an obtuse observation. Their room was perfect for a young couple. Perhaps that was what the proprietor had assumed that they were. Strange, that Harry had not corrected him. He smiled easily, covering his momentary lapse with a quirked brow. "So, what do you expect us to do, hm?"

Xx

Without much thought as to why Tom would have the flask in his pocket, Harry retrieved it from the table. The metal was chilled. Generally these things warmed in one's pocket, but as he had started to notice Tom had a perpetually cool body temperature he didn't think much on that, either. It was returned to the depths of his cloak.

A grunt was Harry's initial reply to Tom's question about birthrights and gifts. Hermione would have been able to empathize. She, as a muggleborn, a 'mudblood', knew what it was like to have access to the wizarding world unwillingly imparted to her rather than extended as a birthright. Harry didn't really know what that was like. Not because of his half-blood status, but because being the Chosen One meant the wizarding world had always considered him one of _theirs_ , going as far as to exert ownership over him. He'd realized by his fifth year that any time he expressed too much autonomy there would be repercussions from those who expected him to be as compliant as a trophy on their mantelpiece.

He wasn't sure how to put this into words, so he simply said, "Not really. I don't think anyone should consider magic a birthright. It should be a gift for everyone." But that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon, especially not in this era. No one wanted to admit that magic belonged to everyone who partook in it, even squibs and the muggle parents who conceived a magic child. No one wanted to admit this because that would mean changing, and the wizarding world was very opposed to that. Considering something a birthright was just another way of shouldering out anyone you didn't deem worthy.

He glanced to the bed when it was mentioned. It looked very comfortable, but Harry wasn't fussed; he'd slept rough often enough to be able to fall asleep just about anywhere. "If you want the bed you can have it." He took another swig of his mead, making himself comfortable in his corner of the settee. "I'm the only one capable of magic at the moment – fancy wandless magic aside, so it'd be unfair if I made you sleep somewhere you couldn't transfigure into something more comfortable."

A pause.

"…You _can't_ do wandless transfiguration, right? "

Xx

Harry never left him questioning exactly where he stood for long.

Tom was learning quickly that his companion had boundaries but he wasn't quite sure where they were located. Normally, Tom got a feel for most people upon meeting them, but Harry had known nearly everything about Tom from the very first moment they had exchanged words. Everything was within Harry's grasp, from the nature of his conception to the way he had been abandoned. He had known that Tom planned to prolong his life indefinitely by sacrificing others in its place, he had known that Tom was a stellar student, adapt at fooling those around him. He had known that Tom was a skilled duelist, intrigued by all forms of magic and its history. For Merlin's sake, he probably even knew that Tom's favorite food was _blackberries_.

If Harry was angry, there must have certainly been a reason. Then why did he have to seem so damn _unreasonable_?

Tom couldn't help himself as bitter anger rose to the surface. His pensive expression hardened and became icy, unreadable. He stared down into his delicate glass for a moment before gently setting it down on the table. "That was not what I meant. _Do not twist my words_." He replied coldly. He took a moment, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly in frustration. What amazed Tom more than the fact that he had become rather annoyed, was the fact that he seemed to be having a bit of trouble masking that annoyance. His usual layers of charm, the armor he wore to keep most everyone from understanding him did not seem to effect Harry in the slightest. It was infuriating.

His mind thought of a dozen different snide remarks to make, cutting Harry and his bold attitude to pieces, but he kept them safely locked away. This was no time to be making threats and enemies, particularly not if that individual had his wand and was literally vowed to be with him.

Tom sat back calmly, folding his arms with a rather casual, tired sigh. "It doesn't matter, Harry. You're the one with the wands, you're the one with the power." Tom reminded him somewhat redundantly. Tom glanced back at him, and though his face was still exceedingly pale with exhaustion, his dark eyes managed to shine with interest while also being remarkably guarded, distant and cold. "You're going to do as you please, just as you always do. Why even ask, Harry? Did you actually want to listen?"

Tom kept remarkably silent after finishing.

Xx

Harry was good at a lot of things. Quidditch, Defense against the Dark Arts, fleeing dangerous situations; he was not, however, good at correctly interpreting other people's emotions. They were often confusing and troubling for him. He probably had a larger empathy range than Ron, but that wasn't helping him at all with the task of figuring out what exactly he'd done to upset Tom. For a moment he looked completely lost, a deer-in-headlights expression upon his face, eyes flicking between Tom and the bed – had he implied something bad while talking about the bed? – and then after this moment of confusion passed, giving way to amusement, he couldn't help but snort.

"Sorry," he said quickly, lifting a hand in a placating manner. "Sorry, it's not funny, I know. I just – the last time I felt like this I was trying to figure out why the girl I was dating wouldn't stop crying." He really had a serious case of foot-in-mouth syndrome when around Tom, didn't he? He took a large gulp of mead. "Erm, not that you're a girl. Or act like one. I'm just not sure what you want from me at the moment; I've already conceded the bed. And I wasn't trying to twist your words, and… I don't know… I wasn't trying to force you into letting me sleep in the bed either."

There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again. "If you want something from me, or I've done something to upset you, just tell me. It'll be a lot easier on both of us."

Xx

Maybe Tom had been hanging around his fellow 'friends' and followers a bit too long. He had expected a tactfully cutting response, something questioning his trustworthiness to begin with, or maybe even the worth in keeping him around if he was at such a severe disadvantage in not having a wand. He was expecting for Harry to get upset (at the least), to be riled up and respond in kind to Tom's coldness with cutting remarks and enraged accusations.

Just leave it to Harry to have one of the most _confused_ apologies he could have mustered. Tom might have even become angry if the entire display hadn't been so unguarded. Tom hadn't even been trying to read Harry's thoughts when the vision of a rather pretty looking young Ravenclaw girl with dark hair flashed in his mind, straight from Harry's, tears streaming down her face as she sat before an untouched cup of tea in an shockingly 'pink' cafe. Tom paused, looking hard at Harry as though this must be some sort of ruse, some ridiculous joke he was playing at. When Harry held his gaze with just as much confusion as when he began Tom couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing. Not a cold, cruel cackle, or a contrived polite chuckle, but full on and unfettered, warm laughter. The entire scenario was just _ludicrous_ to him. Harry, the man with the power, currently 'gently' holding him hostage, and doing his damnedest to lead their way forward had gone from threatening his life to saving it. Tom, the boy who had all of the power and the drive to take a human life in order to prolong his own now squabbling over hurt feelings and single bedroom living situations. All of it was just…absolutely mad.

The door creaked once again as the server awkwardly shoved it open with his hip and elbow while carrying a tray laden with a sizable bowl of thick beef stew and steaming hot rolls of bread. "Apologies for the wait, sirs." He said with a gruff nod. Tom, meanwhile, bit back his laughter, and settled into uncharacteristic blush and a humble silence as he realized his show of emotion was no longer confined to just him and his companion. He coughed awkwardly and picked his wine glass up once again to avoid it being spilled as the tray was set down before them.

When the server finally left, closing the door soundly behind him, Tom looked down at the meal. "You'd better eat some as well." He chided, gesturing to the enormous serving. "There's no possible way I can finish this alone after this last week." Harry clearly knew that he had been refusing meals. No point in hiding it anymore after the debacle in London.

"And as for the sleeping arrangements." He continued casually, taking a sip of wine and ignoring the protesting of his stomach in lieu of the pleasant tingle of an alcoholic buzz. "It's clearly made for two people. If you had wanted to strangle me in my sleep, I figure it would have already been done ages ago." He observed, chuckling at his own rather grim joke. "And if you snore though, _I'm kicking you out._ " He continued, picking up his spoon and pausing. He cast Harry a sidelong glance, as if searching for the words before speaking softly.

"Thank you."

Xx

The laughter startled Harry into silence. He had heard laughter from Tom Riddle before, and it didn't sound like that. The cold inflection was absent; there was no hint of mockery. If Harry's lingering confusion hadn't been exacerbate by the laughter he might have felt compelled to join in. All Harry could bring himself to do was stare and listen, and perhaps that was a good thing, because the more he stared and the more he listened the more warm and approachable Tom seemed.

It was almost disappointing when Tom was forced into silence by the arrival of his stew.

Harry managed to summon a half-hearted smile to dismiss their server with. He then reached for one of the steaming rolls, ripping it in half so he could chew on one end. There was butter inside, warm and gooey and delicious. When Tom offered him his stew, Harry made an appreciative sound and dipped the remaining bread into the lumpy liquid.

"It's okay," he began, but Tom was still talking.

 _Thank you_.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what Tom was thanking him for, but he quickly swallowed his mouthful of roll so he could respond without being rude.

"No problem?" He shoved the remaining bread into his mouth before it cooled, chewing and swallowing in record time. He was way hungrier than he'd thought he was. "And don't worry about it, I don't need it. The bed, I mean. I'd just move around all through the night and wake you up." A shrug. "My girlfriend - heh - she used to box me in because of how much I moved around. Held onto me like a straitjacket. She even did that when it was way too hot for it."

Harry's stomach was starting to feel heavy, and it wasn't because of the food. The _thu-thump_ of Ginny's heart was loud in his mind. Every time they had taken shelter together he would close his eyes and nuzzle into her chest, between her breasts, and listen to the steady thump of her heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. It was the only lullaby he had ever needed.

"…I think I know what you were trying to say before, about uh… wanting _safety_ to be a birthright? I guess that didn't occur to me because I've never really – been safe. Here or in the muggle world. There's always been _something_. But when I was with her, no matter how bad things got, I was too comfortable to be afraid."

This was getting too emotional for his liking. He cleared his throat, nice and loud to dispel the intimacy of his reminiscing, and reached for another roll.

"Too bad I'll be about sixty when she's born. I don't think we can make that work."

Xx

Harry smiled when he spoke. It wasn't the contrived smile to gain someone's trust or the polite smile one gives to another just to make them feel comfortable. It was a smile that remembered love, one that was used to showing affection and receiving it in return, lips that were used to kissing with passion only because they were so certain that the passion would be short lived; survival beyond the night was never promised.

Harry was a child of war as well.

To see him describe his joy now, looking back on it as a man who would never see this 'girlfriend' again made that smile bittersweet with memories. Tom watched carefully. In the past, this would have been studying for facts he would be able to use against Harry later, intimate details that he could use to sway him, get him to comply. What was the use of that now, though? Harry had all of the power, most of the knowledge and none of the cunning. Meanwhile, Tom had all of the savvy, cunning and was woefully unguarded. The irony never ceased to amaze him.

He took a few polite bites of the stew, surprised at how stocky and hearty it was, and yet how much his stomach growled for more of it. Yet, he forced himself to keep his composure and eat with decorum, unlike his companion who was currently shoving a second roll into his mouth. "I'll rest just fine, I assure you." He asserted with a small smile. "You know I'm from an orphanage, correct? If I couldn't sleep through dozens of children crying every night, I would never get any rest." He admitted, his tone soft, but with certain sense of finality, as though there really wasn't too much more to expand on about his youth. It was really just easier to hide it anyway.

"Your girlfriend sounds very comforting. It must have taken a great deal of courage to travel all the way back here and leave her behind. A Gryffindor, indeed." Tom observed, his tone even, taking a moment to glance at the steaming, half-finished stew before him. He mentally nudged it to the side to let Harry have a bit more if he wanted.

"I'm afraid I cannot relate on the subject of your lovers. Most women and men consider me an object to be won or used, or a trophy of sorts." He stated flatly, willing himself not to remember the leering stares, the expectant gazes, the unwanted attention and affection for his beauty. Oh, how they wanted him and how he wanted nothing to do with them. He needed their loyalty, not their sexuality and _definitely_ not their love. They could keep their filthy bodies to themselves.

Tom stopped himself. He took a prolonged drink of his wine before setting down his spoon on the tray, stew still half done. He stared down into his glass, concentrating. "I was thanking you for saving me, Harry." He admitted softly. "I do not think anyone else would have bothered to do so. And given our history, I still don't understand why you did, but I am grateful for it, regardless." Humility felt prickly and uncomfortable. It gnawed at him and his full stomach, laughing at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. It made him feel so incredibly weak.

Tom forced his head up and looked Harry straight in the eye, daring him to laugh.

Xx

Harry recalled Hepzibah Smith as Tom spoke of being a prize, recalled the hungry look with which she had regarded Tom. While Harry didn't think she had deserved to die for her interest in a man several decades her junior, it was a rather unflattering memory to have been present for. It was really no wonder Tom had decided his looks were best utilized as a form of a manipulation.

He could empathize with what it felt like to be a trophy, if not in quite the same way; Harry had been considered desirable a few times by his peers, but he wasn't enough of a looker to get the sort of attention Tom did. He was grateful for that. Being threatened with a love potion once had been more than enough.

"You're only, er… sixteen, was it? Plenty of time to find someone if you ever fancy a relationship." There was a beat of silence, and then he added, "But there's nothing wrong if you never want to. Some of the best people I know never did the whole three kids and white picket fence deal." There were plenty of witches and wizards who never settled down, and there was nothing wrong with that. Tom didn't need romantic relationships to be happy and healthy. He just needed relationships, full stop, instead of keeping everyone at arms distance all the time.

When it was offered, Harry gladly spooned a couple of mouthfuls of stew into his mouth, giving Tom a moment to talk without interruption. With how often Tom was needing to explain things to him, Harry was feeling more obtuse than ever. He really needed to work on that.

"You really ought to give yourself and other people more credit," he said, resuming a languid drape over his side of the settee. "I don't want to give you a big head, but people like and admire you. You're smart and handsome and you have an engaging personality. Me saving your life was nothing special; plenty of people would have done the same thing."

He offered Tom a smile.

"And all the stuff between me and Voldemort isn't really _our_ history. You haven't done anything to me. I told you everything because I wanted you to be filled in, but you aren't him, and you're never going to be him. You have an opportunity to make something better of yourself, and it'd be pretty amiss if I let all that potential get snuffed out."

Xx

"I will never want a relationship." Tom answered without hesitation. Love only brought pain, and Tom wasn't even certain if it 'existed' in the same sense that people tended to use it at all times. His mother had raped his father in the so-called name of 'love'. She had been mistaken of course. It must have been lust and hysteria. He could only imagine what it could have been like, a slave to one's emotions, driven mad by passions one could not understand, and his father swept up in that terrifying insanity. His father's horrified scream swam in his memory on a sea of dark red wine before he hastily shoved it away.

 _Love_ was the idiotic excuse girls (and boys) had for mooning over him and constantly following him around, for agreeing with him, for laughing at all of his jokes and looking to him admiringly. They wanted to bed him, or use him, or show him off in some variety. Or perhaps all of those reasons. Either way, Tom had assumed he would get rid of these troublesome looks of his later on in life, when they had lost their uses (limited as the uses might be). Now, he simply wasn't sure what he would end up doing since 'later in life' he would probably be getting old and dying.

Tom refilled his wine glass. This was no time to think of his impending doom. He had to keep his eyes on his friendly kidnapper who was smiling disarmingly at him and eating stew. He was so simple, yet so remarkably complicated.

Tom laughed softly at him, smiling a bit sadly as though Harry simply didn't seem to have the capacity to understand something quite so grim. "They admire me, yes, but there is always something to gain for them. There's knowledge, or advice, or connections. Very specifically, they want power, Harry." Tom named these aspects of his 'friendships' off quickly, as though it were the most logical, most elementary of conclusions. "I am a means to an end and I cannot expect to be much more. I'm sure they assume much the same as well." It was all a rather grand and amusing game to these players. It was Tom's every intention to come out on top as the victor though.

"You saving my life was _very_ special." Tom's life was all that he had at this point. For Harry to help preserve it and expect nothing in return was so illogical that Tom was dumbfounded by the prospect of it.

"But I suppose you are right about our history. It's strange to hear of crimes I never committed." He breathed. It was a powerful future he could have had, and yet something seemed strikingly _off_ about it. It was as if he were hearing the story of Snow White through the mouth of the Wicked Queen. Tom wasn't feeling guilty over the revelation, but rather harrowingly empty for the possibilities that could have been and never would be. Perhaps it was the wine, but he was being rather loquacious, more so than usual. Tom couldn't help the question which slipped directly through his filters. "Is it easy to separate us? Voldemort and myself? I had thought of the name, I'll admit, but there is no point in using it now. You say I have potential. Potential for _what_?" He asked, shaking his head slowly in confusion.

Xx

Tom's critical view on friendship was a disconcerting thing to listen to. It was a reminder that love – both platonic and romantic – had been completely absent from Tom's life since his birth. He didn't know what it was like to have someone who loved you and prioritized your well-being over their own and he projected that ignorance onto his friends. At least one or two cared about him, Harry was sure. Not all of them could be as bad at interpersonal relationships as Tom was.

Harry sipped his mead before he responded to Tom's question. A little liquid courage was never amiss when talking about Voldemort. "I have to consciously do it at the moment, but it won't be like that forever. The striking difference in appearance helps. He didn't have a nose or hair, you see." Harry glanced at Tom to gauge his reaction. He wasn't holding out hope that his attempt at being amusing had succeeded, though. "When I say you have potential, I mean… you know you're smart and talented and special and all that; I know you know because you've never shied away from describing yourself that way." He snorted. "And eventually you're going to be an incredibly powerful wizard. One of the most powerful wizards in the world. Maybe _the_ most powerful wizard in the world when you start to understand – er – _love_."

When Harry reached the bottom of his glass it immediately began to re-fill itself, the mead appearing out of thin air. Harry set it on the coffee table while he waited for it to finish; he didn't want to chance spilling it all over himself. It'd be a waste of good alcohol.

"You could do a lot of great things. Develop new spells, make incredible medical advances, become the Minister for Magic; things like that. You could do really terrible things, too, if you wanted to." He ran a hand up the back of his scalp, sighing. "But don't do the really terrible things, alright? Because I didn't travel back in time so you could grow up to be a jerk _again_."

Xx

Hair and a nose…?

Tom quirked a brow and couldn't suppress a soft laugh as he tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger. "That's certainly _one way_ to get people to stop treating you like a pretty trinket." He agreed with a casual sigh as though the idea weren't terrible, but it certainly seemed outlandish from this perspective. It also might have been a credit to Harry's power of description which tended to be just a touch rudimentary and lacking in the area of imagination, but Tom couldn't fault him. His companion had nearly finished his glass of mead now and he seemed to be enjoying himself a good deal.

 _He's letting his guard down. Ask more questions_.

Tom looked down at his own wine glass, noting exactly how fast the contents seemed to be disappearing for him as well. Normally, Tom stayed away from drinks, unlike Dolohov who partook in drink 'whenever he bloody well could' (as he would always say). Drinks impeded the mind, loosened the tongue, and made men do idiotic things. It was foolish, useful, and even dangerous at times, but Tom had never been one to let himself have more than a glass or two. Yet, here with Harry, he didn't mind reaching over to refill it once again.

He watched the dark red liquid cascade into the glass as Harry spoke. When he looked up once again, there was a hopeful light in Harry's eyes, a passion to his speech that was strikingly compelling. Tom swallowed hard, willing himself to stay focused. "I know that I'm special, that I'm talented." He admitted softly. Against anyone else, he would have been proud, forceful, but Harry had already made his argument quite passionately. Tom felt it was a bit much in agreeing just as fervently. "I'll have to consider my options." He responded simply. "I had not expected…such sudden changes in circumstance. I mean, Minister of Magic has a lovely ring to it, but does he _really_ have as much power as we assume? Politics may end up being a messier career path than the dark arts." Tom gave a grim smile.

"You're very talented as well, Harry. " He admitted. While the statement itself was certainly a compliment, but by his tone of voice, Tom was being observational, factual. He peered at Harry over the rim of his wine glass before drinking it to enjoy the dry, rich taste. "I'm curious. What are you planning on doing here in this time period? Aside from giving me worldly advice, of course."

Xx

Harry had always had a modest opinion of his skill, and he maintained that opinion. He had talent – enough people had told him that for it to ring true – but he would never be as powerful as Tom or Dumbledore or even Professor McGonagall. It had never been the potency of his magic that had made him a formidable opponent for Voldemort; that'd had a lot more to do with their innate connection and his unfailing wiliness to sacrifice himself than any actual skill.

To Tom's question, he shrugged. "No idea. I wasn't really thinking about that when I made the decision to come here."

Being an Auror still held its appeal, but fooling the ministry into employing him seemed an impossible feat, and it wasn't like he couldn't fight dark wizards _without_ the label. Maybe he could become a vigilante? Technically he didn't exist yet, so there would be no way for anyone to link his actions back to him.

"I guess I'll fight dark wizards. That's what I've always done." He retrieved his drink and took a hearty swig. It was now so full it was almost overflowing. "You could join me, if you like. We can be a duo, like…God, I don't know. I can't think of an era appropriate example. You guys don't have decent television yet."

His face scrunched up in concentration. His cheeks were starting to colour from intoxication.

"…What's the wizard equivalent of Batman and Robin?"

Xx

Harry looked conventionally handsome. He was the approachable sort of chap that women simply loved to bring home for their mothers and fathers to meet so they could discuss exactly how many kids they would prefer to have. He smiled widely, spoke plainly, and never seemed to stray from his righteous and brave ideals. Of course, those women would have never thought him capable of the deadly glare he had once pinned Tom to a chair with (along with several binding charms and a wand), but that was beside the point. Even his threats had been to 'save the world', as he saw it.

It seemed even more within his character to see that he reacted to being complimented on his skill with withdrawal. This meant he did not know how to react to admiration, that he didn't allow himself to revel in the idea that he was skilled or powerful. This humility did not seem to hinder his confidence in his abilities, or his quick and tactical thinking. In retrospect, that fact was quite amazing, but it seemed to somehow suit him. He didn't wear his power like a cloak, it molded to him like a second skin, so uniform to the way he worked that it seemed a part of him. _Intriguing_.

"How do you define 'Dark Magic'?" Tom asked. In retrospect though, someone of Harry's moral standing may need a situation to relate the question to. He took a long drink from his delicate glass, feeling the numbing tingle of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. "For example, blood magic." He began, gesturing fluidly. "It can be used to torture and to control a human being. But surprisingly, it is one of the most effective ways of saving someone from any sort of poisoning, magic or mundane. It can also help to heal areas of the body that have been severely damaged from repeated trauma. Yet, it is outlawed." Tom observed, naming off facts more to himself than to his companion, as though finding his own footing in the topic.

"Mind you, I've never performed it." Tom admitted somewhat compliantly, giving Harry a somewhat bashful smile. "I've read on it. The subject is popular in a war-obsessed country. The line between 'accepted' and 'dark' magic is baffling and the ministry refuses to make things clear. It seems the only time something is 'dark' is when it's used directly against them and it cannot be used to further their own ends."

Tom took another lengthy drink from his glass which he seemed to savor before turning his dark eyes on Harry again. "Truth be told, the Ministry could use your assistance." He admitted casually. "They're a mess."

The offer took Tom by surprise. He was about to assert that he had far larger plans in the future than hunting down 'dark' wizards who had hardly a handle on the extent of their magic when he realized that…he didn't. He really didn't. Tom had **no** plan for the future. In the course of just a short week, no probably just those first few hours they had been together, Tom's goal for immortality as well as his scheme to gain power had been completely undermined by three…rather, _two_ vows (the last one seeming just for good measure).

"I have no idea who either of them are but they sound like comic book heroes." Tom commented with a playful grin. "I claim whichever one dresses the best. I refuse to be seen in an outfit like some shoddy Superman knockoff. I have make a good presentation of myself, Harry." He said with a touch of mock-flamboyance.

Xx

Harry knew better than most that there were occasions where dark magic was imperative to the well-being of wizard kind. If he had not used the imperious curse on the occasions that he had, progress would have stalled; people would have died. There _had_ to be exceptions. So while his opinion on Dark magic was of the black and white variety, he knew it was possible for it to be utilized for good. He was just also very well aware that it was primarily used for bad, and that was why its use _had_ to be regulated. He had no interested in loosening the restrictions on dark magic that had a history of being misused.

"It's kind of hard to make the distinction. Any sort of magic can be used with ill intent. Dark magic is just… easier to use for that purpose, and sometimes developed specifically for it. Like the Unforgivable Curses." He licked his lips, the stale taste of alcohol on his tongue. "There are probably dark wizards who don't use dark magic, but I don't think I've ever met one. They've all been willing to use crucio and the like. The unforgivable are like the hallmark of a bad wizard."

After drinking so much mead, so fast, Harry was feeling a little light headed. He let his eyes flutter shut – and then forced them open again, setting his drink on the coffee table while he readjusted the cloak in his lap. He couldn't let himself fall into too much of a daze; an amicable relationship with Tom didn't mean Tom wouldn't try to retrieve his wand the moment the opportunity arose.

"Mmm, neither of them dress the best, honestly," he said, grinning back as he groped around his thigh pocket for his wand. A silent spell was cast on the cloak to seal the pockets, and then he tossed it aside. "They both wear their underwear on the outside, and I'm pretty sure Robin's doesn't even have leggings to go with his outfit. It's a gymnastics thing." He resumed drinking his mead, sliding his wand back into his pocket. "I get to be Batman, though, because I'm the adult, and I've more or less adopted you."

Just like Batman adopted all his Robins. He remembered one of Dudley's friends speaking animatedly about the subject, once.

Xx

Smart. Harry wasn't just by-the-book style 'law enforcement' when it came to his particular brand of righteousness. He was savvy about what it takes to ensure that one's goals are accomplished, and that every spell had a proper place. _Perhaps even one which ensured immortality._ Tom couldn't help but hope after having the rather obvious realization that it wasn't necessarily the 'living forever' option that Harry seemed so opposed to, it was the vehicle he had been planning on using to get him there.

Tom wondered briefly what Harry was up to when he searched about for his wand. Seeing him seal up the pockets of his cloak, even in his increasingly inebriated state convinced Tom even a step further that Harry was sharper than he was letting on, and perhaps even less drunk than Tom was assuming after two full glasses of mead. Even through his frustration at not having his own wand in hand, he found himself admiring that fact about his companion. Tom supposed he would have to deal with random explosions of energy from himself for just a short while longer.

 _He really missed his wand. Damn it all, he really missed using magic, the power and release it brought._

"Underwear on the-? No leggings? Christ, Harry, I don't need to make it easier for people to undress me mentally." Tom laughed. In fact, for some reason, Tom seemed to find it a great deal funnier than he normally would have. Something about the fuzziness in his mind which spread itself all the way down to his fingertips seemed to soften his demeanor as he doubled over in the same, unexpectedly warm laughter from before.

Once he caught his breath, now nursing a stitch in his side, Tom wondered if now would be the right time to ask Harry about the future, his friends and history there. Somehow, the fuzziness in his mind told him that it was a fantastic idea. "I'm just wondering, are you drunk enough for me to ask you about you friends in the future?" He asked bluntly. "Do all of you regularly visit Mars on a spaceship or something? I assume that's the direction the future is going, right? Do you wear your underwear on the outside, or just clothes like those ill-fitting pants and shirt of yours?" Tom smirked at his casual garments before he took another long drink from his glass and was surprised when he emptied it yet again.

In the wake of his empty glass, the word 'adopted' lingered in his mind, though Harry had really only mentioned it in jest. Really, the more appropriate word was 'kidnapped'. Tom wondered if 'kidnapping' really could feel quite as warm as he did right now. Did this mean that Tom was 'forcefully adopted'?

Xx

Had Tom not been inebriated, he might have detected a barely perceptible stiffening of Harry's shoulders. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world for him to voluntarily talk about his friends. He couldn't even stand to mention their names, to face that deep, dark void inside himself that had grown exponentially larger with each loss. He curled his fingers into his shirt, knotting them in the fabric briefly before prying them away, managing to cast Tom another grin.

"What's so ill-fitting about my clothes? I didn't even get these ones from my cousin." He reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle; it was getting late and he didn't want to sleep with it on. It always left nasty red marks on his hips. "To be honest, the wizarding world hasn't changed much. It's kind of, uh… stagnant. I mean, life gets slightly better for wizards and witches with muggle blood? But otherwise it's about the same."

Sliding his belt out of its loops, he threw it on top of his cloak.

"S' not like that in the muggle world. They're always creating things to compensate for a lack of magic. I think our ministry should try introducing computers, honestly - that's a muggle invention, great for information storage. If we'd done that Voldemort wouldn't have been able to destroy all the muggleborn records in the ministry."

A pause, and then he said, "Oh, yeah. That happened. So I guess things got slightly better for muggleborns, and then the worse they've ever been once the second war started. There was a lot of opposition, though, so there's that."

He frowned, balancing his mead on his thigh.

"This mead is making me tired. I should probably go to bed soon. Or, well… settee, since I'm not sleeping in the bed."

Xx

There was something rather particular about the silence coming from Harry. Tom was about to try his best to break it when he realized that seemed to be fiddling around with his clothing. The smile Harry shot in his direction made Tom breathe a sigh of relief that Tom hadn't realized he was holding in.

Tom watched with finicky distaste as Harry pulled off his belt without a second thought, tossing it carelessly with his cloak _(which contained Tom's wand. Oh God, if he could just get that wand back…)_

"Your sense of fashion is atrocious. You look like you're homeless. I mean, technically, we are both homeless, but still!" Tom persisted, tugging at the sleeve of Harry's shirt if only to feel the fabric. "It's as though you've never even tried to make yourself presentable. I mean," Tom tilted his head as he gave Harry a rather particular look as he reached out to try to pat his hair into some semblance of a style. "I suppose, I will just have to make the effort and find _something_ to dress you in. You're impossible. I think you'd look rather nice if you'd just try it. I don't care what Batman does, you are not walking around with your underwear over your pants. That's just insulting." Tom commented mischievously, biting his bottom lip to hold back laughter.

Tom withdrew, settling his hands on his lap, wrapping his fingers around the base of the glass and feeling the cool liquid within slowly growing warm with his body heat. Or perhaps it was his body heat that was seeping away so he could become cold once again. When Harry spoke of the future, he did so as though he were pulling off a particularly nasty bandage, laughing at how little the wound had healed before quickly covering it up once again. It was the same way one complains bitterly about getting too much homework or having stubbed one's toe, but it was infinitely worse. Tom could see plainly, even through most of a bottle of wine. The pain had left him numb.

And he still can't tell between me and the Voldemort he changed history to erase.

"Of course." Tom replied softly, understanding Harry's exhaustion. He had saved both of their lives today (and had a rather hefty amount of mead). On top of that, he didn't need to read minds to know exactly what he was thinking. Harry didn't want to put himself, quite literally, in bed with the enemy. It was a smart tactical move. Tom stared down into his half empty glass of wine, the deep red of the color swimming before his eyes, his father's scream lingered somewhere in the background, sounding strikingly like an air raid siren.

Tom delicately set the glass down and lifted himself carefully from his seat, taking great efforts to step away from the heightened table without tripping on the legs. He nearly succeeded, only stumbling slightly and catching himself easily. He glanced back at Harry to find him sneering and laughing. Tom's pale skin slightly blushed clearly bashful at his misstep, realizing that he was unwilling to voice what he was thinking.

 _The bed looks cold. I don't want to be there._

"Good night." Tom commented, failing for the first time in ages to make himself sound confident.

Xx

Harry couldn't deny that he looked homeless. While his shirt and jeans were form-fitting, an improvement from what he'd been forced to wear in his youth, they were so worn and dirty that they might as well have been scavenged from the dump. He wasn't about to be self-conscious about them, though; he'd been seen in far worse states than this.

"I'll buy some new clothes tomorrow, then," he said, swatting Tom's hand away. His hair wasn't going to flatten itself no matter what Tom did to it. Even magical influence wasn't enough to make it behave. "I'll even let you help me."

Knowing Tom, he'd end up wearing Slytherin colors. He'd have to try to sneak in some red or blue so he wouldn't be head to toe in green and silver.

As Tom stood to depart the couch, Harry lifted his legs onto the now-unoccupied seat and tucked in his limbs, curling in on himself like a puppy in a basket. The room was warm enough to make a quilt unnecessary. He jerked his head up when Tom tripped, looking all the more like a dog – Sirius would have been proud – and couldn't help but laugh at the blush that rose on his pale cheeks.

"G'night, Tom," he said, lowering his head back to his arms. "Feel free to wake me up if you need anything." He didn't expect Tom would. After – three? Glasses of wine, Tom would probably sleep like a rock through the night.

Xx

Harry looked strikingly young as he curled up on the couch. Not to imply that he was 'childish', but he seemed serene and carefree as he got himself ready for sleep. In addition, the way he curled up implied that he was all too familiar with the notion of sleeping wherever and whenever. Of course, the copious amounts of mead probably helped as well.

The sneer that Tom had been expecting at his expense never came. In fact, Harry laughed easily, as though sharing some particularly close joke just between the two of them, or perhaps even relief that he had not tripped flat on his face in his _clearly_ inebriated state. Tom stood, looking down on him as he spoke, his eyes squinted blearily as he tried to comprehend his own sluggish thoughts and the tightness of panic which was knotting his abdomen.

 _Why are you smiling that way when you never wanted me here to begin with? Didn't you want to break me?_

Tom felt anger rise suddenly, burning brightly and unreasonably hot. His blush faded and instead of returning to his usual pale tone, he was ashen. Tom's eyebrows drew together as his muddled thoughts blurred his mind with alcohol and a touch of fear. He eased himself back on to the bed. Somehow his fingertips were already feeling cold again. _Why was Harry doing this? Why was he treating him so nicely? What had he to gain?_

One day had taken them from merely co-existing, to a deadly air raid and finally to a meal shared over far too alcohol with several statements that Tom knew he would regret. All the while, Tom had no wand, no money, no control and Harry was providing all of his safety and sustenance at the cost of everything he had once considered important.

His goals seemed far away. Fear of death lingered, tasting like bile in the back of his throat as he eased himself down. The screams of his father threatened to burst in his skull like a wailing siren when suddenly all Tom could think about were the stars, shining piercingly from the velvet sky.

He remembered Harry's imploring expression, the sight of his mouth moving but not hearing the words. He could have been saying anything. Anything at all.


	3. The Knights of Diagon Alley

(( This is a compilation of a roleplay between myself and HeroComplexing. I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.

My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well.

My goodness, I'm so floored by the support that I've gotten on this fanfic. Thank you so much, everybody! :) I've been giving some serious thought as to how I'm going to end this storyline recently. I know what parts of the story are most important to me, but I'm curious about what parts of this story are most compelling to you, as a reader. If you could please take a moment to complete the following statement for me in the comments, I'd be so very grateful:

"I read this story because..." or "I am most interested in..."

If you don't have time to comment or leave kudos, I completely understand and I thank you for reading through this anyway. Please take care! ))

The alcohol was quick to lull Harry to sleep. It wasn't as rejuvenating a slumber as it would have been, were he sober, and it was further disturbed by dreams of the war. He couldn't combat the assault of memories of Remus and Fred and Ron and Hermione, of their slack faces and vacant eyes; he couldn't force them into the recesses of his mind like he did when he was awake. Even in his dreams he was never able to be the savior his friends had needed. Voldemort was always there to stop him before he could deflect the fatal attack, and perhaps this was his minds way of protecting him from waking up and believing, for just a moment, he had managed to save them. If was fortunate he had consumed enough alcohol to render him motionless throughout the night. He emitted a few sounds, a whimper, a mumble, but there was no movement to indicate he was having a nightmare.

Surprisingly, he awoke the next morning with memories of Ginny at the forefront of his mind. He faintly recalled the sensation of her long fingers running up his forearms and the press of her soft, pink lips on his own as he opened his eyes, skin tingling and goose pimpled as though she really had been there. His cheeks were hot when he reached up to touch them.

He spent some time staring up at the ceiling before he was able to will himself to stand. The rest of the day was uneventful. As promised, he took Tom out clothes shopping and bought himself something fashionable so Tom wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen with him in public. It was a nice thick black cloak with green silk sewn into the inside. He brought himself a blue sweater vest and a formal ensemble of dress pants, shoes, and a shirt to wear underneath.

They remained in the village for the additional three days before Harry set up camp on the fringe of a nearby forest. It was warm enough for other people to have the same idea, so there were neighbors on either side of them. Harry had introduced himself to them as 'Harry Riddle'; it seemed easier than trying to explain why a sixteen year old and a man in his early twenties (soon to be twenty three) were sharing a tent. Harry didn't mention that his birthday would be soon. He had no intention of celebrating it.

It was nearing the end of July when Harry finally decided it time to take Tom to Diagon Alley. He'd promised Tom books, after all, and he had yet to make good on that promise. They made a bee-line for Flourish and Blotts upon arriving, and Harry handed Tom a pouch full of galleons before they stepped inside. "Buy as many books as you want," he said, elbowing the door open. The owner, a portly man with a broad smile, looked up from a list he was examining as they entered. Harry waved a hand in greeting.

"We'll get some lunch after," he continued. "If you need some new robes, we can get those too. Can't have you wearing the same thing day after day."

Xx

Their first night at the Three Broomsticks seemed ages in the past now, but Tom could still remember with striking clarity the flashes he had gotten of Harry's dreams. The wine had knocked him out for only a few short hours before he found himself dizzyingly awake once again, and not quite sober yet either but certainly not sloshed. Being that he was not making eye contact or casting the spell itself, he was relying on his inherent ability to read one's thoughts, which was unpredictable at best without a wand to channel it. Dead bodies littered Harry's dreams, with pale, lifeless eyes that were too lovingly defined for him not to have known them in life.

This would explain why Harry had traveled back in time alone. Whatever Tom's future self had done, he had done so with deadly precision.

Tom could not stand the sight of another dead figure after their already traumatizing experiences that day. His abilities were clumsy in his still inebriated state as he clung to something, anything more pleasant than memory of a rotting corpse. The sensation he found in response had been foreign, like a sunrise caught perpetually upon cresting over land. It felt…warm. Not hot, or hungry or burning like the power that continually smoldered within him, looking for release. It was just soft and warm and easy. Tom held to that thought, that feeling, with all his might as he gradually felt his anxiety ebb away.

The next morning, he felt remarkably pristine, despite the fact that he had not showered yesterday. Strange.

The time following had been interesting. If Tom was going to be entirely honest with himself, they had been an adventure of sorts. Comfortable. Being raised in a city and within a city for most of his life thus far, the prospect of being out camping had not been a pleasant one until he actually just 'gave it a go'. Surprisingly, he hadn't minded it in the slightest. Magic, of course, made their tent much more hospitable than his expectation, and their neighbors were just as dense and friendly as he and Harry needed them to be. They never questioned the fact that two young men were randomly camping by the edges of Hogsmeade for the summer months. Perhaps they had assumed that this was some sort of holiday for the both of them, or maybe that they were brothers (Tom and Harry did look strikingly alike at times), but they graciously had not deemed it proper to be asking questions.

Tom could have cried for joy when Harry finally gave into his nagging that they needed to get new reading material for him. Perhaps the fact that Harry had found him trying to nick books from their unsuspecting neighbors had been a sign that he should probably make good on his promise. There was also the fact that there were school books to be bought and supplies to be re-filled before the new academic year began.

Was Tom even going to be going to school? Damned, if he knew.

Either way, the duo had seen fit to go shopping. Taking the small bag of golden coins from Harry, he quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well, Mr. Riddle ." He began, smirking down at Harry. "I'm glad to see you've finally decided that I need new distractions. I will be certain to find-"

"Tom?" Said a young man's voice behind him.

Tom recognized the voice before even deeming it appropriate to greet him. Within a heartbeat of a moment, Tom's entire stance seemed to shift from grinning down at Harry, joking and teasing him fondly, to settling into a calm, composed demeanor. He turned to smoothly face the newcomer.

"Afternoon, Lestrange." He greeted, his voice as even as his composure. "This is a pleasant surprise."

Lestrange was a slight lad with limbs a bit too long for his growing body to handle in a way that was not clumsy. Yet he smiled with surprising fondness as Tom greeted him. Lestrange adjusted his black robes as though displaying them. "I'm just here getting my school gear. I didn't expect to see you at all." He continued.

"That's why it's called a ' surprise ', Lestrange." Tom sighed.

"Right you are, as usual. Dolohov!" Lestrange cried out. "Dolohov, you're not going to believe who's here!" He continued, looking up at Tom admiringly.

"Is that Tom, I heard?" Called a disembodied voice from their left.

"No, it's the bloody Minister for Magic. Of course it's Tom !"

Dolohov emerged briskly from the rows of books. On the shorter side, he stepped speedily along as though trying to make up for lost distance. He carelessly knocked several stacks of books aside on his way. "Aha! It is you! Rather early in the shopping season to see you along these ways." He said in a voice which seemed so accustomed to speaking quickly that he blurred the words together into a casual slur. His wide smile did nothing to soften the wicked glint in his deep brown eyes. "How have you been, Tom? You look like you've lost weight." He asked, giving Tom an appraising look.

"I am quite well." Tom answered smoothly. He is voice seemed to command attention even when he spoke softly. "It's been a very busy summer. As usual." He gave Dolohov a look of pointed annoyance. "Don't be a child. Clean it up." Tom gave a small gesture to the books strewn across the floor in Dolohov's wake. The other boy groaned softly before dragging himself back to the row he exited from, picking up his mess as he went. Tom turned back to Lestrange. "What brings the both of you here?"

"Walpurga was taking her brothers shopping. She decided to bring us along for company." Lestrange shrugged easily, his pristinely kept black robes falling neatly into place, a clear sign of custom tailoring. "I think she had been hoping to catch you here if she had us Knights along. She's up by the register now."

Tom barely had a chance to roll his eyes in response before Dolohov rejoined their small group, now giving Harry the same appraising glance and unreadable smile. "This is Harry." Tom motioned to his companion, giving him a small nod as though he deserved their approval. They followed suit, looking to him with attentive interest. "He's been teaching me a great deal about survival and combat magic." He turned to Harry now that he seemed satisfied with the rapt attention and consideration that was given to him. "Harry, this is Antonin Dolohov and Arcturus Lestrange." He continued, gesturing to each of them in turn.

Xx

While Tom was occupied with his friends, Harry attempted to merge with the shadows cast by the bookshelves. Much to his chagrin, Tom introduced him before he could reach them. He knew his smile was strained as he turned to address the boys.

"Nice to meet you," he said, as polite as ever.

The tallest of the boys – Lestrange – regarded his messy hair with a creased brow. He self-consciously tucked some of it behind an ear. "Nice to meet you too, mister…?" Lestrange offered Harry his hand, and Harry took it, giving it a firm shake. Dolohov followed suit. "Not a Longbottom, are you Harry? I wouldn't admit that right away either." Dolohov snorted at this comment. Harry knew it was a rhetorical question. Neither of them were actually expecting Harry to be a Longbottom; they were trying to draw him into their little group with derision at a 'blood traitor'. However friendly their intentions, Harry's expression still went cold.

"If I were, I wouldn't be ashamed of it." He had a great deal of respect for the Longbottom's. "The Longbottom's are an honorable family. They shouldn't be the punch line of your joke."

"Oh. I didn't realize you were friends," said Lestrange stiffly. He seemed affronted by Harry's lack of comradery.

Dolohov piqued up with a, "What family are you from, then?"

"I'm not pureblood, if that's what you're wondering."

"I…I see." Lestrange's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as turned to speak to Tom. "You didn't hire a mudblood , did you? If you needed a teacher I would have gladly provided some reputable names."

The boys were now visibly indignant at having a mudblood – even one hand-picked by Tom – speak to them as though they were children. This was exactly why Harry had wanted to flee at the sight of them. He'd know this would happen. He pissed off pureblood supremacists and pureblood supremacists pissed off him; it was the natural order of things

"Well, this has been a great chat, really great, but I ought to be going. I'll see you at the parlor, Tom." He turned as he spoke, reaching for the exit, and bumped into a solid mass before he could pass through the threshold. The sight of who he'd bumped into gave Harry a pause. Not because they were clearly a very rich, regal man, but because their appearance was so reminiscent of Sirius' that it was uncanny.

From the back of the room the store owner crowed a greeting. "Lord Black, so good to have your patronage-!"

"I'm not here for that, Pernickle," said the man, his grey eyes rapt on Harry. "I came to inform Lestrange and Dolohov here that lunch will be starting soon, but imagine my surprise when I see they're being harassed by a mudblood . Are you going to allow such a things to happen in your store, Pernickle?"

"Er, of course not-!"

"I was just leaving," Harry interjected, jutting his chin up at the man. "If you would kindly move out of the way, I'll do just that."

Black's lips pursed. "The days your lot were made to wait outside while a better quality of patronage shopped were so much more palatable. You people are forgetting your place."

"It's right here, and the wizarding world is starting to acknowledge that so you ought to try doing the same, Lord Black." He maneuvered his way around Black and made a hasty exit. Dolohov, Lestrange, and Lord Black turned their attention on Tom once he had fled the scene, and while Dolohov and Lestrange seemed – as they ought to – rather uncomfortable with what they had just witnessed, Black's expression was one of barely restrained fury. The smile he presented Tom was so tight as to almost look like a grimace.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Riddle. Will you be joining us for lunch? Perhaps you could regale us with the tale of what it is you've been up to this summer."

Xx

Tom wasn't aware that Harry was German. Frankly, that had to be the only reason he had decided to bomb Tom's entire cover.

Damnit, Harry.

It was a testament to Tom's skill at keeping his carefully constructed composure that he even managed to stay silent through the entirety of the disjointed conversation. Before he had been able to jump in and lie on Harry's behalf about his last name, Harry charged in with a tactless statement and his own brand of righteous idiocy before almost managing to end that horrifying display by storming off.

And directly into Arcturus Black.

In a rather grand show of standing, Arcturus verbally faced off with Harry in an exchange which left neither of them looking startlingly well, but perhaps Black just a touch worse for wear. He certainly seemed to be steaming at the ears when he turned his attention to Tom, gritting his teeth and asking for an explanation through a thin veneer of politeness.

"Yes, Tom! What was all that? He sounds like a right crusader for all their disgusting breed!" Dolohov muttered darkly.

"Are you sure you're quite well?" Lestrange added softly, tilting his head in concern at Tom. "You look paler than usual, I think." He added, taking a look at his hand and then Tom again, as if comparing or tempted to reach out and touch his head to test the temperature.

"Tom, how could you allow yourself to be around such individuals?" Black added, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Lord Black." Tom looked deeply relieved to speak with him. He looked at the older man imploringly. "I hope you'll forgive my companion. He's not quite…right in the head. A descendent of the Bullstrode line, and you know how spirited they can be when disciplining their children, particularly at a young age. If you look closely, you can still see the scars on his head." Tom expanded, pity clear in his voice as he shook his head slowly, looking deeply troubled. "So much promise in his abilities, if he could only get himself straight, you understand? Please let me handle this situation. I'll be sure to explain to him in vivid detail what is proper behavior, Lord Black."

Lord Black's proud features seemed to soften minutely appeased with Tom's humility and careful choice of words. Tom gave him a gracious nod before murmuring, "Thank you. As always, your wisdom and understanding is appreciated."

Lord Black nodded and moved past Tom and the boys without a second glance to find Walpurga and her brothers. Tom had half a mind to retreat to the door, but his two companions did not seem to be even half as fooled by Tom's reasoning as the 'lord' that had just passed them by.

Tom didn't panic. He could always try abandoning Harry. He could pin the entire outburst on his caretaker, claiming he had no idea that Harry was such a fool to believe in such values! Tom should leave him immediately and rejoin his fellows here. This of course, presented the impossibility of leaving Harry completely, which would render him quite dead due to the vows. Scratch that.

"Not right in the head, eh? Now that I'm thinking on it, your friend was acting very particular from the moment we saw you, backing away and all that." Dolohov chuckled, his wicked grin returning easily. "Trying to escape, maybe?"

"Don't be an idiot, Dolohov." Lestrange snapped. "Though, I'm curious as to where you met him. Really, I could have connected you with-"

"Maybe we should hunt him down for a good thumping, eh? Beat the sense back into him?" Dolohov gave a bark of laughter.

"But Tom, what's going on? Really! This is absolutely crazy. You must return with my family, have a good lie in. If he was as mad as you say, you shouldn't have ever let him be around you." Lestrange fettered on, worrying the edges of his sleeves.

" **Gentlemen** ." Tom began, loud enough to knock them from their conversation and snap their attention to the sliver of anger in his tone. "I would have thought that each of you would have performed better, but you have all failed me. And when I spoke so highly of you both…" Tom trailed, looking in disappointment at each of them in turn. Their silence settled into confused glances at one another.

"Harry had said that none of you would be able to detect his lies, and he was correct. Both of you fell into his trap without even sensing that there was something amiss. Without even trying to read your opponent and not just his words." Tom glared icily forward, his dark eyes boring into Dolohov and then Lestrange viciously, their resolve was rapidly shrinking in Tom's wake. Each of them knew personally what happened when Tom was displeased.

"He claimed that even my most talented friends would question me at the first chance they had, and as it turns out, he was absolutely right." Dolohov coughed uncomfortably, his wicked smile becoming a sheepish, sweaty grin, Lestrange looked overwhelmingly uncomfortable, as though he had swallowed something particularly spiny. The pain that came with failure was not a memory which either of them would soon forget. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen , I must go clean up after the lot of you. Yet again." Tom finished angrily before smoothly moving around the group and retreating from the store.

Tom rushed off to find Harry at the parlor. He urgently grabbed the other man by the arm. "We're leaving immediately. We'll have to return another time for supplies. If they find us-" He broke off with a frustrated huff, shaking his head and glaring at Harry.

"Come on, let's go!"

Xx

Harry had bought himself a vanilla ice-cream cone with chopped nuts, caramel sauce, and a perpetually moving pinwheel stuck into its side. He was rather sad to have that ice-cream jolted out of his hand when Tom grabbed him. Frowning down at the splatter of white, pink, and orange on the sidewalk, he tried to shake Tom off his arm.

"What're you going on about? It's just a bunch of your friends. They won't do anything to cause a scene, and even if they tried …"

Harry was a fully seasoned wizard. If they approached him with the intention of inflicting harm, he'd be able to deal with them with ease. Lord Black, on the other hand… he glanced over his shoulder, and it just so happened that Lord Black was standing at the exit to Flourish and Blotts, peering across at Tom and Harry. When he noticed Harry noticing him, he smiled in the same wide, toothy way Bellatrix often had, his grey eyes alight with malice . That was not the expression of someone who intended to let bygones be bygones.

"Er, you know what? I've changed my mind." Now it was him grabbing Tom by the arm, dragging him bodily along in the direction of the fireplaces. "Let's floo to Hogsmeade. I think there's a place there that lets you borrow books to read while you eat. You won't be able to take them home-" That comment doubled as a warning. "But it's better than nothing, right?"

Xx

"Arcturus Black." Tom's voice was weighted with frustration and anger as he sensed the fear in Harry's voice more than heard it. "You certainly know how to choose your enemies. I could have saved you from a slip up with the dynamic duo, Dolohov and Lestrange, but insulting an elder of the Black family is a mistake." Tom finished heavily, walking briskly along with Harry, allowing the other man to lead him, all the while thinking of different ways for them to escape the mess that Harry had currently gotten him into. (He had to admit, he was rather sorry that he wasn't able to get an ice cream. That one Harry had dropped looked heavenly.)

Giving away his blood status and deeply rooted beliefs would make it incredibly hard for Tom to explain his current situation to those at school. Up until that point, all of his beliefs had been gaining power, ensuring immortality and pureblood supremacy. Most of that triad had been put on indefinite hold thanks to the green-eyed wonder boy at his side, and he had hardly any time to consider exactly how that would affect his time at school until this very second. Survival had been his prime concern, but now the rest of his life up until that point was coming back to slap him in the face.

This was simply a small taste of the creative dodging he would have to be doing when he returned. Oh, damn it all.

"I would never dream of taking the books home, Harry." Tom lied smoothly, trying not to cast a glance over his shoulder, trying not to feel the impending sense of doom that was the mental presence of Arcturus Black, boring down at them from Flourish and Blotts, wearing that mad smile like a cat who has found two lame mice to stalk after. Tom could smell insanity on him almost as strongly as he sensed his power. In retrospect, Black might have been able to say much the same about Tom.

One thing was certain. Tom and Harry were getting the hell out of there. When they finally reached the fireplaces, Tom looked expectantly at Harry. "To Hogsmeade then?" He asked with an increasing sense of urgency.

Xx

"So I was just supposed to stand there and let him belittle me?" Fat chance. Harry reserved polite behaviour for those who deserved it, and Lord Black shared a category with Lucius Malfoy as deserving nothing but derision. Both were (or had been, in Lucius' case) adults too stuck in their ways to change. Tom's friends, on the other hand, were young enough to benefit from a positive influence in their life. Harry had no intention of guiding them to the extent he was Tom, but he wouldn't shy away from telling them when they were in the wrong.

He reached into his cloak for the floo powder. Though still deep, the pockets of this cloak weren't enchanted, so it didn't take him long to dig out the correct pouch. He grabbed a handful of powder and reached for the nearest vacant fireplace. Some were labelled in, and some out; you didn't want to step into the wrong one or you would end up being squashed by arrivals.

Behind them he could sense Arcturus Black's pursuit starting to slow, his electric presence developing into a steady, patient thrum. Apparently he had come to the realization he wouldn't be able to reach Tom and Harry before they used the floo network. Harry wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he threw his powder into their chosen fireplace and shouted their destination, "Hogsmeade", and proceeded into the flames with Tom at his heels. He maintained a tight grip on Tom until several minutes after arriving in Hogsmeade, wanting to be ready to flee if Lord Black decided to pop out of the fire after them.

Thankfully, he didn't.

"Doesn't make much of an effort to hide the fact he's a creep, does he?" Harry smiled in an effort to lighten the mood. They were safe now. "But I suppose he's rich enough not to have to bother."

Xx

There was just a bit too much movement going on for Tom to answer. He was finally far away enough from the presence of Lord Black to cast his glance around to check for pursuers. Lord Black had been powerful enough to sense his mental presence, like a cloyingly static electric charge that left the tinge of ozone in its wake, but his fellow students and 'Knights' were not nearly powerful enough to cast the same sensations. If they were close on Tom and Harry's heels, Tom's best chance of stopping an attack was to keep them in their sights and physically avoid them.

Yet again, they seemed to have dodged a bullet for the first time in ages. No one seemed to be particularly concerned with their presence. Tom felt himself being yanked forward by his companion.

After hurtling through the Floo network, gripping Harry's hand tightly, they exited in a flurry of ash and soot, casting paranoid glances behind them as Tom straightened his robes and dusted himself off. He fixed his hair as he followed along at Harry's side, rolling his eyes in distaste at the fact that the other man didn't seem at all concerned with the mess on his brand new robes. With a disgruntled huff, he set himself to dusting off the shoulders of the shorter man, and then his back.

" Yes! That's precisely what you should have done. He's an idiot, Harry!" Tom explained. "Even if you had just left him to spout what he would, he would have been satisfied, and you would have had the upper hand if a battle were to happen between you. He would have assumed himself unparalleled on the field of combat because he was left with the impression that he had won previously, and you would have been able to catch him by surprise and destroy him." Tom explained, clearly exasperated, as though he were explaining that a square peg goes into a square hole. "Harry, you must learn to think ahead! You can rest assured that each of them were . Lord Black assumes that I'm an intelligent pawn he can plant in the Ministry later. I let him do so because it has served my purposes thus far. He knows nothing of my skills!" Or family background. H is stomach gave an uncomfortable twist out of anxiety. Or he might just be hungry. That too.

Xx

Harry slid his hands into his pockets, a frown marking his forehead. He felt rather like a chastised child, and it didn't help that Tom was fretting over his appearance like a mother hen. "How was I supposed to know all that? I thought he'd whine about me to his family and move on. Didn't know he'd want to attack me. It's a bit much, isn't it?"

He anxiously gnawed on the inside of his cheek and only stopped once he had drawn blood. Sucking it into his throat, he turned to guide Tom into the nearby library-café. A bowl of soup and a hot mug of butterbeer would calm their nerves.

"We'll go back early tomorrow, just before opening time. We won't be disturbed that way," Harry said, and then withdrew his wand, performing a simple cleaning spell to fix their robes. He didn't want the soot to smudge. These were the only clean robes he had and he needed them to be presentable when he started going in for job interviews.

"By the way," he continued, because he didn't really want to have to talk about his failings. "I'll be looking around for work soon. Once I have a steady job we should be able to rent a cabin."

Xx

"No. It wasn't a bit much. Harry, you don't understand these people. Half of them are not quite hinged and they're teaching their children to be just as mad." Tom elaborated with a sigh of exasperation. "You may think that the reason that most of them join with the Knights is that they believe in pureblood ideals, and yes, that certainly is part of it." He paused, as if trying to think of the best wording.

"But, a huge aspect of their loyalty is all tied in being a part of something greater, something powerful that makes them feel special or appreciated. It's an aspect that their families never provided, no matter how proud of them they might have been. All they can depend on from people like Lord Black is unfulfilled expectations and constant anxiety to overachieve. I offered them purpose and power." Tom seemed more pensive as he followed along with Harry. It was almost as though he seemed to wake from a daze when Harry cleaned their robes, not to say he wasn't grateful for the gesture.

"I could have done that from the beginning if you would just give me my wand back." He reminded Harry for what must have been the hundredth time, giving him a beautiful, compliant smile. When they entered the library, Tom was instantly distracted from his hunger by the presentation of books. Glorious books, of every shape and size, hiding in corners, stacked up on tables, lining the walls in the back of the establishment. He tried not to look too eager as he darted to the back to explore the possibilities presented.

He returned with a stack that nearly reached up to his neck. He set it down gingerly on a table before pulling the top one off to give to Harry: Quidditch, The Sport and the Culture . Somehow he knew even without mentally reading him on this subject, a Gryffindor of his build and attitude must be a jock of some variety. There was even something in the purposeful way he walked that seemed to speak to his athletics. "I could be such a big help to you. I could even get myself a job as well, you know."

Xx

"It's a little late to be telling me that now," he replied, trying not to sound petulant. "Don't worry about it. He's not going to do anything to you, is he? And I can look after myself." Harry was determined not to let Lord Black's thirst for retribution bother him. If he could deal with Voldemort for over a decade, he could deal with an over-zealous pureblood.

While Tom was busy taking his pick of literature, Harry ordered them a jug of butterbeer and two bowls of steaming hot chicken and vegetable soup. The table he chose for them was squashed into a corner, directly behind a bookshelf. It provided no leg room, but the armchairs were comfortable enough to make up for that. He accepted the offered book and sat down with his legs tucked beneath his thighs, like he had occasionally done during winter in the Gryffindor common room.

The subject of Tom's wand was one he had been avoiding. Typically when it was brought up, he would grunt or shrug or offer some other noncommittal gesture. That didn't discourage Tom, evidently.

"It'd be pointless for you to get one so close to the new school year. You'd be back at school before you could finish orientation." He put his book aside and reached into his robe pocket, groping around briefly before coming up with Tom's wand. It felt at home in his hand. "As for this, you're going to need a wand for school, so I might as well give it to you now rather than later." He extended it to Tom. "It currently recognizes me as its owner, however, so if you decide to try anything…" A beat of silence. "I'll let you disarm me before you go back to school, of course."

Xx

Could Lord Black do anything to him? Interesting question .

Technically, the law directly prevented Lord Black from even thinking of harming Tom due to his age, but there was nothing keeping him from hounding his every step. Now that he had a scent of something suspicious, he would not want his prime candidate for 'political' control to be sullied by anything that might even seem like an 'extremist' mentality, let alone a half-blooded one. Harry was virtually unknown in every standard, mostly because he didn't legally exist in their time period. Tom was very much a viable target. Being that Tom was also in a state of vulnerability and unable to perform magic to defend himself (being captured as well as being 'underage' in the eyes of the Ministry), he was at a severe disadvantage.

Would Lord Black try anything? Tom paused, closing his eyes as his thoughts worked quickly, trying to see the plans forming within the darkness of his mind.

No, not immediately. The information that had slipped with their chance meeting could only be useful in the correct setting. To confront him out where no one was there to witness it would serve no purpose aside from making Lord Black look like an adult physically assaulting a teenager. He would wait until he could corner him with words, rather than weapons, where he knew he could be surrounded by like-minded individuals, probably back at school.

Tom swallowed hard. Suddenly his true home, Hogwarts, was looking a great deal more sinister than it ever had before. If his followers were to turn on him there, who did he have left to depend on? If they found out about his father, his family, his real bloodline…

Harry's reluctance to let him get a job was understandable, but he felt his stomach make another tight knot of anxiety at the thought of having to return to school. He eased himself into the cozy corner seat which Harry had chosen for the two of them, trying to calm his panicked thoughts when he looked down at something which he never would have thought to expect, Harry handing over his wand.

He blinked before rather eagerly taking the weapon back, smiling a bit too widely and excitedly before training himself back into his usual cool composure. There was certainly a part of him that resented the warning but curiosity and concern overtook it quickly. Wand allegiances? How did Harry swap it from him? Could he possibly own two wands?

Tom leaned close to Harry, speaking in a low, conspiratorial whisper. "How did you steal its allegiance?" He asked, running his fingertips fondly over the wood with a touch of concern as though it may need healing somehow. "Was it…the vows ?"

Xx

At Tom's question, Harry shook his head. The vows had nothing to do with it. He'd won the wand from Tom when he'd disarmed him. The use of expelliarmus typically wasn't enough to change the alliance of a wand, but Harry retained footsteps of Tom's very soul and was the owner of its brother; it was inevitable that it would regard him as an acceptable owner.

"Okay, first of all, I didn't steal anything. It willingly aligned with me." That was an important distinction to make. "Wands have personalities, and yours… well, I guess it likes me. Not all wands are like that, mind. Some of them have higher standards-"

"Your drink, sirs!"

He turned to the source of the voice, and a perky blonde waitress was smiling dazzlingly at them. It was such a pretty smile that Harry immediately started to feel self-conscious about how he was sitting, awkwardly pulling his legs out from under himself.

"Thanks," he said while helping her ease the jug onto the table. She managed the glasses by herself.

"And thank you," she replied, sending her tray floating back to the kitchens. "I believe I've seen you two around here before. Is that your brother?"

Harry glanced at Tom. "Oh, no, I'm his - older cousin. My names Harry Riddle, and this is Tom." He gestured to Tom, which was rather unnecessary, but Harry wasn't exactly the most suave person in the world when it came to women. He wasn't the most suave person in the room , for that matter. "He's going to be starting his last year at Hogwarts soon," he continued. "Proud Slytherin, this one."

"Ohh, I went there myself! I was a Hufflepuff." The lady cast Tom a broad grin. "Good luck on your N.E.W.T.s! They're absolutely horrid, but you look a smart chap. I'm sure you'll do fine." She gave Harry a friendly nudge. "And make sure to send him plenty of letters! Having something to read that isn't exam related keeps you sane."

"Of course. I'll be sending him a letter every fortnight." Her bright personality was absolutely infectious. If there was a vacancy, perhaps he could work here. That would be nice. "Say, would I be able to talk to you after work?"

"Oh." She blinked owlishly. "Well, um…"

"Er, I mean-! Not-!" Harry's felt warmth spreading across his face and neck. "What I meant to say was-!"

"No, don't panic. It's alright," the lady interrupted, laughing warmly and squeezing his shoulder. "Come by at seven. We'll have a drink."

"T-thanks," Harry stuttered, and proceeded to smile awkwardly until she had tottered off. The moment she was gone, he turned to start pouring them both a glass of butterbeer.

"Anyway…" he opened his mouth, and then closed it, brow creasing with a frown. "Wait, what was I saying?"

Xx

What the hell did that even mean, his wand 'liked' Harry more?

How could a wand prefer someone? How could a wand even think? It was a wooden stick, for Merlin's sake! All that wands did was perform magic for the user and lie in wait as a weapon and tool for later use. That was its single job, and apparently his wand preferred someone else now? Feeling incredulous and betrayed he glanced down at the thin, pale wood in his hand and then back up to Harry.

Tom was about to snap at him to accuse him of lying, when a very pretty little interruption meandered up to their table.

She smiled daintily, swayed her well-developed little figure, and attracting all of Harry's idiotic attentions. He could see the blush forming on his tanned cheeks as the girl set the jug of butterbeer down for them both and smiled widely. Harry tripped adorably over his introduction, gesturing wildly to Tom as though the girl needed to know he was there.

"Hufflepuff, hm? How charming." Tom commented, casting her a winsome smile, somehow managing to look gracious and confident all at once, even while counting the different ways he wanted to boot her out of their corner. Harry still hadn't answered about his wand. He needed to tell him about the wand allegiances!

As their conversation dragged on, Tom tried not to shoot a glare at Harry for 'trying his chances'. Incredible! He should be hitting on the wait staff when they had irate purebloods and wandlore to discuss! If the sustained blush on Harry's face was anything to speak to, it was the fact that all he could seem to think of was getting this pretty little tart lying down with him as soon as possible.

"Thank you so much for your concern. You're too kind." And too easy, wench. Go away now, you disgust me.

He kept smiling easily in her direction until she was finally out of sight. He turned in a mere second when she was finally gone. " Really ? You really think this is the time for you to be planning your next bedside partner? I have to admit that I forgot how good looking you are but that gives you no excuse! You're worse than Dolohov, and that's saying something, Harry ." He shot him an icy glare. "And what do you mean, my wand 'likes you better'? It's my wand." He hissed in a scathing whisper. "It should like me best! I'm its owner!"

Over on the other side of the room, someone's wooden goblet exploded, sending wine and broken bits of pine flying everywhere. The warlock it belonged to squawked in surprise and embarrassment, rushing to clean up the mess with a spare napkin. Tom huffed angrily, snapping his attention away from the scene. He needed to keep a better hold of his magic. He couldn't allow his anger to control it.

These things…they had not happened to him since he was so young. Why was this explosive, destructive magic leaking out now?

Xx

Harry watched the poor, harassed-looking warlock attempt to mop up the mess that had become of his cup. It was only after using up every available napkin that the warlock seemed to remember - oh yeah, I'm magic! And proceeded to magic the mess away with a blush on his cheeks. Harry might have apologized on Tom's behalf, but he didn't want to embarrass Tom. He was already worked up without the having an adult do something as patronizing as apologizing for his behaviour.

He awkwardly slid a glass of butterbeer over to Tom's side of the table. "Most wands can be won, and yours is no exception. It does have its own set of standards, though. It probably wouldn't align with just any witch or wizard. They have to be- like you, and since I own its brother wand and had your soul in me from the age of one to seventeen, I suppose I'm the best next thing."

He withdrew his hand, cupping it around his own glass of butterbeer. "And I wasn't – God, Tom, don't talk that way about women, nor me . Not that I'd mind if she wanted to – but the point is, you can't just assume she would just because she's pretty. If Ginny were to-" His mouth snapped shut. There was a short pause, and then he continued. "I wasn't asking with that in mind. I thought this might be a nice place to work. It was sweet of her to turn it into a date, but I'm not really looking for, you know. Commitment. I mean, I'm already committed to you, and you're a full time job."

Sipping his drink, Harry discreetly peered into the kitchens after the waitress. He really should have asked for her name. If it'd been written on a tag somewhere, he couldn't recall. He'd been too busy looking at her face to notice the rest of her.

"I should probably try to make some friends, though, even if I don't get a job here." He shrugged. "It'll give me something to do while you're at school."

Xx

Tom kept Harry locked in sight with a piercing glare, making it very clear that it was entirely unacceptable that his wand was no longer considering Tom its master. Though Harry claimed he was no thief, Tom was thinking along a different set of lines and it showed in his frigid tone. Yet, something about knowing that it had been because Harry was similar to Tom that the wand reacted in this way that comforted him just a touch. Not nearly enough to ease his anger completely, but enough to function without exploding any more of the other patrons' drinks.

"Oh please, Harry. You know she's going to sleep with you." He snapped scathingly. "Shall I go for a 'long walk' this evening while you woo her in our ravishing tent ?" He continued bitingly. It felt good to stab at Harry's clear advances and his innocent look of shock. His admittance that he was going on a date and being reminded of his pretty little poppet back at his home time only seemed to add fuel to the fire. To have so many romantic ties was quite baffling. Tom would have never thought that someone so well trained in the magic arts would allow themselves to get so roped up in so many triangles. Why was he so damned disappointed in Harry? Why was he so upset?

He took a sip of the butterbeer, more to have something to do with his hands than clench them angrily under the table. Harry's plan to get a job and his mention of Tom returning to school sent a chill up his spine once again. Lord Black's mad smile lingered in the back of his mind, as though warning him of what was really at stake here.

"Whatever you do end up doing here, Harry, be on your guard." He stared down at his cup, into the steam coming off of the warm amber liquid with unfocused eyes. His lips tightened as he began to choose his words carefully, coming to terms with the fact that his school would no longer be as he remembered it. It couldn't be.

Not with filthy blood. Not being the bastard child he knew he was.

"If Lord Black is smart, which he is, he'll take the opportunity to confront me at school. Not necessarily physically, but verbally or even indirectly." Tom stated casually, softly. What lie could he feed the rest of them so that he could defend himself? How would he weave his stories to best protect himself? Was it even possible? If he sustained that he was pureblooded, the Knights would continue to push the rather bloody agenda that they had planned for the future. Yet, if he changed his tune about their plans, they would begin to question his power and authority. If he told them the truth, they would surely abandon him.


End file.
